


Too Much Like Me

by MadameSpaceSkunk



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Amputation, Angst and Humor, Artificial Intelligence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Awesome Pepper Potts, Awkward First Times, Awkward Romance, Banter, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Chess, Choking, Daddy Issues, Domestic Tony Stark, Dry Humping, Existential Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Five Stages of Grief, Flashbacks, Genius Peter Parker, Genius Tony Stark, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Happy Hogan is a Good Bro, Heavy Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Hypersensitive Peter Parker, In Character, Internal Monologue, Kidnapping, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Masturbation, Mathematics, Murder, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, POV Alternating, Parent Tony Stark, Philosophy, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Pepper Potts, Protective Peter Parker, Psychological Drama, Psychological Torture, Realistic, Sarcasm, Science Bros, Science Fiction, Self-Hatred, Sexual Discovery, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smoking, Stream of Consciousness, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Until it’s not anymore, Young Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2020-08-23 15:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 31
Words: 231,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameSpaceSkunk/pseuds/MadameSpaceSkunk
Summary: Tony Stark had been very much aware he was fucked up for several decades now, but this was on another level. He was falling in love with a teenager, and so began wondering if putting a bullet in his brain was such a horrible idea after all.Canon compliant from Civil War to Endgame (minus the ending). Re-writing of Far From Home, as close to Canon as possible. Don't expect mindless porn, this is going to be a long ride. My main goal is to make this forbidden love story spanningyearsas realistic as possible within that crazy Marvel world we love so much.WARNING: heavy angst, suicidal thoughts, as well as some graphic violence and attempted rape.Blog: madamespaceskunk.tumblr.com





	1. First Time

The first time was the day he found him.

It was 4:02am. He had dozed off on a couch half an hour earlier and was woken up by F.R.I.D.A.Y’s gentle voice informing him of a match to his desperate last-minute search. His brow furrowed in his half-sleep before his eyes popped open.

‘Seriously?’

He sat up far too quickly only to slump back down a second later.

_Okay, lying down will do for now, Christ...  
_

He watched the CCTV footage on a huge holographic screen F.R.I.D.A.Y immediately put up, and it wasn’t long before he was leaning forward on his right arm, brow still furrowed but not because of his sleep-deprived, alcoholic self anymore. He watched the videos in slow motion, paused them several times, and then watched them again four times at regular speed, mouth agape.

‘New York.’

It wasn't a question.

‘Indeed, boss.’

_What are the odds…_

‘You sure it’s real?’

‘Positive. All standard verifications for potential falsified footage have come out negative.’

His expression didn’t change for a long moment. He just lay there, gawking at the screen. Eventually he let out a somewhat half amused, half incredulous _‘huh’_. He couldn’t believe he’d found something —_someone_. And in New York of all places! Then again, when Tony Stark wanted something...

Or _someone…_

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mysterious swinging vigilante in the red and blue onesie, and kept staring at a still image of him for another minute. Yeah, from the look of it, it was a he. He couldn't feel his right arm when he sat up. He stretched, still staring.

‘Okay’, he finally said, lifting both hands at how easy that seemingly impossible search for real back-up had been, before letting them flop back onto the couch. ‘Find him.’

It would take F.R.I.D.A.Y around two minutes, he figured. He mentally chuckled. _Oh yeah, spider-guy... you can keep your face away from CCTV all you want, but you can’t hide from **me**_.

Normally, he would have played a little game with himself in trying to guess the guy’s job, social background, age—hell, was he even _human?_—before the A.I. revealed everything, but he found himself silently waiting for it to do its job, gazing out the window at the full moon and the clouds slowly drifting over it. He tried not to think about the shit that was about to hit the fan with that whole Sokovia clusterfuck, about the look on that woman’s face and the picture of her son… about what she had said to him…

About _Pepper…_

He reached for the glass he had left on the elegant coffee table beside him, took another sip of his 50 year-old Scotch and tugged at his already loosened tie.

‘Shit’ is all he had to say when the picture of a freaking _teenager_ appeared on screen.

He ran a tired hand along his sweaty face and let out a heavy sigh. His hand went up again to cover his eyes for a few more seconds before his arm dropped and his decision was made.

‘Shit.'

He stood up and walked over to the coffee machine.

_Back to selfish prick mode... _ _Ah, fuck it, it’s for the greater good._

‘Tell me everything you have on him’.

Fifteen.

_Fuck. _

Lower middle-class.

_Unsurprising given the shitty costume. _

Orphaned by the age of six. Tony’s head shot up from his cup of coffee. Plane crash. _Damn_.

'...lives with his aunt in a 700-sqft apartment in Queens’, the AI went on, his exhausted brain only picking out the most interesting bits. ‘...money problems...'

_Boring._

He went back to sipping his kopi luwak, barely listening now, or at least convincing himself he was.

'...lost his uncle two years ago in an armed robbery.’

That was a quick sip. _First his parents, then the uncle who raised him?  
_

'...sophomore at Midtown Tech...'

_Oh._

'...straight-A student...'

** _Oh._ **

Okay, so now he was really intrigued.

‘…Math, Biology, Physics, Chemistry, Core Humanities, Spanish, as well as Academic Decathlon, Robotics Lab and Marching Band.’

He turned his eyes towards the kid’s face again, only then truly looking at him. How the hell did that little dork in a marching band end up stopping speeding cars with his bare hands? Not to mention he’d literally been crushed between that car and the bus before jumping away completely unscathed... A shudder ran down his spine. _Probably alien..._ A friendly, neighborhood alien protecting common citizens in his spare time? Tony emptied his cup in one big gulp, his left hand suddenly a bit shaky. He couldn’t think straight.

‘Tell me if he's human or not... if it turns out he is, find out what the hell happened to him, who did that to him, who might be behind his... _abilities._ Might be a teacher from that school.’ Midtown Tech was one of the best science and technology high schools in the country after all. He wheezed at his own laughable hypothesis, putting his now empty cup of coffee on the counter. ‘Oh and… find out how he’s doing all that’, he vaguely gestured at the screen. ‘Climbing walls, sticking to them, stopping cars and what not… and that_ thing_ he slings from; analyze the stuff. Send a drone out if necessary. I want its strength/density ratio and a full biochem report.’

'Right away, boss.'

After five minutes of radio silence from F.R.I.D.A.Y, he started lazily pacing around the vast open space, now definitely intrigued. Normally, the state-of-the-art A.I. took up to five minutes to do a full analysis of a substance from footage only. Another five minutes of staring out at the now moonless sky through the glass wall, or more at his own confused dark eyes and what seemed to be the millions of wrinkles now surrounding them, and he couldn’t decide whether he was scared or impressed, or both. There was no way the kid had just come up with all that stuff himself. Alien tech most likely.

_Shit._

Twenty minutes. Still nothing. Thirty. Forty.

He slumped back onto the couch, the glass of Scotch now empty, his mind quickly drifting away, until he was startled by the A.I.’s voice finally delivering some answers.

‘No data indicates any second party involved, boss. It seems Mr. Parker is acting alone. There is no evidence of his being of extraterrestrial descent either. There is however a substantial amount of evidence pointing to Mr. Parker as being of strictly human decent. Data on unidentified substance and Mr. Parker’s altered biological status still processing. Scouting drone activated. Incomplete report on display.’

The chart he laid eyes on stayed imprinted in his mind for a long, long time. The strength levels were above those of his Mark 46.

_Dear God._

Fifteen. Midtown Tech. Brilliant student. Orphan. No money. Mad skills and no sign of any reinforced suit like his own. Plus that super-strong material his own A.I. couldn’t even identify? None of that made any sense, and he couldn’t shake the face of that kid from his mind.

None of that made sense unless…

_Fifteen..._

Suddenly, a memory flared up. He saw himself at fifteen leaning over a brilliantly designed little bot he’d just finished working on after twelve hours of lazy work. His father had suddenly entered his lab without warning, finally home after a three-week business trip. He had come up to Tony without a word, and had picked the robot up to inspect it.

'_You_ did that in a _day?’_

Tony hadn’t even asked him how he'd found out.

_‘Huh’_, Howard Stark had added, pensive. And then he'd been out of his life again. Tony hadn’t seen him for two months after that.

And so for the first time in his life, as he was on his way to the kid’s place later that day in one of his multimillion-dollar cars, he had the weird hunch that he was about to meet someone like him.


	2. Kinship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last update of this chapter: 01/11/2020.

Everyone described Tony Stark as a narcissist, and he had of course never denied it, striking back with sarcasm and shielding himself with the equally undeniably truth of his unique brilliance. This was his biggest defense, not the jokes; he truly had no equal. Well, intellectually of course. Pepper and her incredible ability to tame him and inject a semblance of moderation and stability into his chaotic, self-indulging billionaire routine certainly qualified as his equal per se, but the power of his mind? Who was even close to it, really? Okay, Banner was close, but still leagues below him. Pym? Same, though the legendary ego of the genius billionaire had always stopped him from really investigating into the older man's work, making fun of it instead. Besides, Pym’s area of expertise was pretty narrow and seemed ultimately useless. _Shrinking_ _things? Brilliant_, Tony would scoff.

Really, who could name someone actually to his level? Nah. He knew he was alone there.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t take pleasure in dominating every single person on Earth. Every scientist, every engineer, every arrogant tycoon and fuming politician. He was the wealthiest man in history and he _loved_ it. Some crazy-rich people felt guilty of making in a second what billions of people earned in a year of hard work and tried to hide their fortune away; not Tony Stark. He relished it, bathed in it, exposed it wherever he could wearing a thick coat of cynicism. He didn’t know how many billions of dollars he was worth at this point. Who cared, really? He was born in it and he knew from first-hand experience that money was power, and Stark Industries made him more powerful than any president could ever hope to be. He discreetly laughed at the concept of democracy. If Cap knew... Eh, he probably did.

And he was freaking _Iron Man_, for crying out loud!

All that being said, inevitably, stepping into the world of boring, stinking, ordinary middle-class Queens into an apartment that was probably smaller than his own bathroom, and waiting for a teenage superhero, who’d single-handedly designed an entirely new super strong and super light material from literal scratch, to come back from school, was… _interesting,_ to say the least.

He tried really hard not to think of Peter Parker as a penniless mini-me. After his seventh cup of coffee, the disturbing thought made him shrug and smirk at himself. He couldn’t wait to meet the specimen and see right through him. _Dissect_ him. Perfect distraction.

He arrived a little too soon, but enduring small talk with the hottest aunt he’d ever laid eyes on was a treat – unlike that walnut date loaf. She had no idea why he was here and nervously giggled for two minutes straight when he showed up. People being starstruck was part of his daily routine but he never really got tired of it. He put on his most charming mask and idly chatted with her while pretending to sip her cheap Lipton tea.

So Spider-boy never told his aunt about his super activities and managed to keep it a secret in this literal shoe box of a place... Not entirely surprising but again, interesting.

He was in the middle of joyfully bullshitting her when the door opened and there he was, the wunderkind he’d been eagerly waiting for, earphones on, oblivious, and he was just that, a kid; with kid’s clothes and a kid’s voice that greeted his aunt and excitedly began talking about a ‘crazy car parked outside’. Tony managed not to chuckle at Peter Parker’s face when he finally turned around. His eyes couldn’t quite contain his mirth, however.

He was just another starstruck kid seeing Iron Man in the flesh for the first time, complete with large brown eyes and a high voice stuttering in a Queens accent. Tony revelled in making him try to regain his composure, in seeing him struggle to keep his secret safe. He kept his gaze firmly on the startled boy, winking at him in an exaggerated way. What a treat, indeed. He mentally rubbed his hands together. Now, let’s dissect the itsy bitsy spider! Then recruit him, go home and swallow some sleeping pill because _shit_... he hoped he didn’t look as fucking exhausted as he was...

He was an expert at very quickly putting people into boxes. May Parker: hot, seductive, well-read, caring, terrible cook, not that smart, hiding deep emotional wounds, prone to anxiety attacks.

And yet, in the twenty minutes following Mr. Parker’s perfect entrance, he had to re-label him in his head at least a dozen times.

_Starstruck, definitely. Duh. Lack of confidence. Shy, polite, mild-mannered. In it for the money? Nervous. Shocked I spat that mouthful of date loaf into his dustbin? Haha, priceless. Now, let’s see. Introvert? No, definitely not; semblance of confidence there. Fear… Bad liar. Oooh, a little bit of cockiness! Interesting. Can’t meet my eyes now that I’m in his bedroom... Probably his Spider stuff hidden somewhere here... PTSD? Not apparent. Yes, definitely got a mouth on him! How the hell did he acquire those skills? Whatever, no time for that now _– and something told him he wouldn’t like the answer - _Awkward, very awkward. He's fifteen after all, not surprising at all. Tendency to get overexcited and overwhelmed. Overconfident? Jeez, how did I get from shy to overconfident? Complex, then. I like it. Then again, how could a genius like that not be complex?_

_A genius..._

‘You know what I think is really cool? This webbing. Tensile strength is _off the charts_. Who manufactured them?’ Tony asked, deliberately throwing a test tube full of the kid’s brilliant invention hard at him, just to _see_ _it_, his _power_, already knowing the answer. One of his drones had retrieved some of the stuff earlier that morning and he’d spent an hour studying the unknown substance. Impressive was not strong enough a word. He would _never_ have thought of designing that, and he was 45 year-old Tony Stark for Christ’s sake! He was of course far from unfamiliar with the concept of directly drawing patterns from Mother Nature in order to come up with ingenious tech, but this… the sheer creativity and work and ingenuity… with the little he had… It baffled him… _Fifteen and broke, Jesus…_

‘_I_ did’, the kid replied after having caught the test tube with superhuman reflexes. He seemed… very much aware of Tony’s scrutiny and uncomfortable. He threw the tube into the card box now containing the homemade suit Tony had effortlessly found, and it flew right past the older man's head.

_Yep, definitely not shy._

And yet, he was at the same time. The boldness and cockiness were restrained and then unleashed intermittently. It was probably the first time someone confronted him about his spider alter ego. Yes, Tony was the first to know. The way he averted his eyes from his… He was uncomfortable indeed. He probably felt exposed, perhaps a little pissed. He looked a little flustered too. 

'Climbing the walls, how are you doing that? Cohesive gloves?'

'It's a long story. I was, uh...'

'Lordy! Can you even see in these?' Tony suddenly teased him, looking through the goggles of the kid's cheap suit.

'Yes. Yes, I can!', the kid defended himself, grabbing the suit from Tony's hands, stuttering. 'I can. I can—I can see in those, okay? It's just that... when whatever happened happened, it's like my senses have been dialed to 11. There's way too much input, so... they just kinda help me focus.'

His young voice was suddenly soft; the cockiness from earlier gone.

'You're in dire need of an upgrade', Tony told him. 'Systemic, top to bottom, hundred-point restoration, that's why I'm here.'

_No, you're here because you're fucking desperate._

The kid relaxed. He sat on his small bed looking like the regular broke kid that he was. Time for some serious questions.

‘Why are you doing this? I got to know; what's your MO, what gets you out of that twin bed in the morning?’

He looked directly at Tony and god, he looked so young with his big doe eyes. But then, some hesitant confidence shone through his youthful awkwardness, and he ended up formulating something that had been at the core of Tony’s life for as long as he’d realized being Iron Man was his destiny, however cheesy that sounded. His maturity caught Tony off-guard.

‘Look, when you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.’

_God..._

_That weight…_

They both felt it at that moment, and all layers of defensive wit and guardedness abruptly vanished from both sides. The tiny moment was raw and it gnawed at Tony’s chest. He saw the woman’s glare again, and thought about her son who had died in Sokovia...

_'You just fight for yourself.' _

That had hurt more than he dared to admit to himself. Just like Cap’s words… _'You're not the kind of guy to make the sacrifice play... Take that suit off, what are you?'_

The kid was looking at him. Something clicked between the two strangers. It was a look of deep recognition, of _kinship_. When you can do that, you can’t stop, there’s no going back. If you fail, it's your fault. And that fifteen year-old kid already knew it, accepted it, _embraced_ it.

Poor guy, such a burden at his age…

Tony looked down.

_Fuck it, we need new blood_. He would finish the suit he had started working on that very morning. F.R.I.D.A.Y had probably completed 90% of the work already. That would give the kid some extra protection and more fashion cred. He would use him just for show and if things went bananas, his webbing might be useful to keep some of his rogue teammates at bay and, if need be, punch some sense into them. He would tell him to keep his distance and everything would be fine.

Rogers would stop that madness.

_Shit._

He stood up, mind racing, looming over the young genius on the bed, feeling a sudden urge to assert his dominance.

’I’m gonna sit here so you move the leg.’

He instantly regretted his words, turning his head away, painfully aware of how weirdly aggressive they were and how inappropriate his sudden order was. Shit, he’d just ordered the kid to let him sit on his bed... What the fuck was he doing?

Peter Parker slowly but immediately obeyed, startled, but staring at him with something like fear and respect, and Tony sat down on his bed next to him. He felt an urge to touch him. After a second of hesitation, his hand came heavily into contact with the kid’s shoulder. 

‘Got a passport?’

The kid looked at his feet at the sudden contact. He didn’t flinch though.

'No, I don't even have a driver's licence.'

'You ever been to Germany?'

_ How can a brain like that be hiding in such a... such a... _

‘I can’t go to Germany! I—I got home work.’

_Shit. Fifteen. Quick, a joke._

Seconds later he was again caught off-guard. _Spider-Man_ abruptly shot some of his brilliant invention on his hand to prevent him from opening the door and spilling the beans to Aunt Hottie.

The _nerve_... The _power_... The unrelenting will to protect his aunt from the scary truth... Peter Parker was bold and caring and brave and mature and so fucking smart. And cute. He’d pinch his cheeks if he could. When he poured another unidentified substance on his hand to free it, he stood too close. Tony shuddered.

_Fuck, what a day._

Nice distraction from the shitstorm coming.


	3. Old Trick

His mind was racing, his body on the verge of shutting down entirely but being unable to. Happy gave him a pill.

That wasn’t new. His mind was always racing. Plus all that coffee and the thousands of thoughts fighting in his head because of the situation they were in right now — yeah. No breaking news there. Happy had looked more worried than usual though, but he hadn’t said anything, unlike Nat earlier that day… She had asked him if he was alright. Bad sign indeed...

He tried not to think about the kid.

His mind was always racing, but now it was dizzying. He needed sleep and he needed to stop _thinking _about _that_ _kid!_ Hell, he needed to stop thinking about the fact that he needed to stop thinking about the kid.

_God, the headache…_

The pill blissfully did the trick after a few minutes, but before snoring loudly and drooling on his silk sheets, he couldn’t shake the look on Peter Parker’s face when he had said those words. His youthful voice swam painfully in his brain.

_‘Look, when you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.’_

He woke up still feeling exhausted, and couldn’t believe F.R.I.D.A.Y when she informed him that he had slept for more than eight hours. The Spider-Man Suit was technically ready, even though he had already planned a hundred potential upgrades. He could give it to the kid himself; take the jet, go to Berlin with him. Instead, he felt a very clear urge to stay away from the younger genius, almost getting sick at the idea of seeing him again. His head still hurt. He had to get his ass to Berlin right now with the others and be the reliable leader they needed, but he was filled to the brim with dread.

Thankfully, after a cold shower and a good breakfast, he finally felt like himself again.

_Come on, we got work to do._

Of course, nothing went according to plan.

He’d been so worried about the kid, and here he was now, waiting for a second diagnosis telling him the first was bullshit, that no, Rhodey was not paralyzed from the waist down, that he would walk again. His old friend’s suit had taken a critical hit and he had violently crashed.

Tony hadn't caught him.

He closed his eyes, fighting back tears of rage and guilt and frustration. He had a flash of Peter Parker also plummeting to a certain death had he been anyone else... Tony had been so fucking relieved when he’d seen he was okay—_how?—_and then Rhodey had been hit. He suddenly recalled his shocked words about the kid.

_‘Jesus, Tony! How old is this guy?’_

He felt sick.

He had to end this mess.

He couldn’t understand them. He couldn't understand _him_. _Cap..._ That oh-so-perfect, self-righteous prick. _He_ had influenced all the others; _he_ was the reason why the Avengers were falling apart, with his idealistic, moronic _values_. Thank God for Nat. She was tough on him, but he actually needed that more than anything else right now.

The kid was now safely home, at least. He didn’t want to think about the way he'd actually stood his own against Cap for a while. Seeing him in action had been…

He sighed.

_This isn’t gonna end well..._

And indeed, it did not.

That night, when it was all over, he threw up twice on his jet from the sheer anxiety alone. He hurt all over. When he finally made it home at around 5am, Pepper requested access to his quarters for what felt like an hour before finally giving up when Happy succeeded in reassuring her.

The kid was somewhere a few floors below him. He had to stay a bit longer here for aunt Hottie not to worry about the ‘Stark Internship Retreat’ being shorter than originally announced. The plan had been for him to stay two days in Berlin but he had sent him home with Happy as soon as he’d witnessed that nasty fall. He had a feeling the little smartass would have done something stupid had he let him stay after the fight. At no point did he let him assist to any of the team’s meetings for that very reason. The less he knew, the better.

_Fifteen... shit._

And so Peter Parker was sleeping in one of the many suites in Stark Tower for the second night of his ‘internship’. A grumpy Happy had been assigned as his unofficial babysitter and Tony had gotten a little report. Apparently, he hadn't gotten any sleep on the jet and had uncharacteristically stared out the window during the entire flight, not taking his phone out even once – ‘_Those gen-Z kids_…’, Happy had sighed in his first video report the day before. But he’d eaten like a bear, and then had literally collapsed on a bed when they had arrived at the tower. He’d been fast asleep ever since. Good.

Tony retreated to his lab, trying not to think about him being there... about that innocent and eager face drinking in his every word when he'd given him orders, about that motionless body lying on the ground, about those eyes... Trying not to let that fucking _guilt_ make him throw up again.

And he’d nearly killed his friend.

_ Friend.._.

_Captain fucking America..._

His _friend_ had been protecting the murderer who had taken his mom’s life. He would never forgive him. So why the hell couldn’t he actually _hate_ him? Why the hell did he feel so bad?

Rogers had stopped himself when he'd had Tony at his mercy... Of course he had, with that look in his eyes… But _he_, Tony… he didn’t know if _he_ would have stopped. He didn’t know.

And now Cap was gone. And Clint and Sam too. And Wanda, poor kid... The Avengers were in shambles.

_Fuck them_. 

He had hardly listened to T’Challa when the calm monarch had explained what that Sokovian guy had done and why, what he had wanted to do all along... _'Don’t give him what he wants', _he had told him.

_Too late._

It didn’t matter. That guy had gotten what he wanted and Tony had gotten the_ truth_.

He locked himself up, filled with pain meds and self-loathing. Rhodey would never be able to walk again, and so he worked on prosthetics for his legs right away. He made sure they would be as discreet and ergonomic as possible. After an hour or so, he already had several prototypes mapped out and felt better. The stress tests could wait a little. What was more urgent was adding a parachute to the kid’s suit, as well as certain features he had eventually opted against when he’d first designed it, because well, they were morally wrong. But fuck that too. He had to make sure the kid was safe at all times. Fuck morals. He couldn’t bear the thought of another accident, even after having witnessed what the kid could take without so much as a cracked rib. He named the highly immoral and 100% illegal kid-spying protocol the Baby Monitor Protocol, and added a restricted access to the suit’s full abilities – the Training Wheels Protocol. He didn’t even smile at his own jokes, but couldn’t help himself anyway, especially since the kid would inevitably find out about them. Priceless. Imagining the look on his face did trigger the ghost of a smile on his own. He downed a small bottle of green smoothie with another pain med at around 7am. The kid was awake. Time to play pretend again.

Happy noticed right away, the sharp bastard.

He couldn’t help stepping into the kid’s personal space, putting his arm around his shoulders, cracking jokes, giggling. Dear God, he even _giggled_. He felt drunk, and he’d only drunk some coffee and a fucking green smoothie. They took goofy pictures with a fake Stark Internship certificate for his aunt. In the car he couldn’t help but ask him to film an alibi video too just to be close to him again. When they finally arrived in front of the kid’s building, he fucking leaned over him to open his car door, an old flirting trick he used to do when he really wanted to get laid shortly after, and he _smelled_ him. What the fuck was wrong with him? The kid went for a hug and well, that was hilarious. Totally hilarious. He smelled so good. Huge red warning lights went off in his brain. _Get the fuck off him_.

'That’s not a hug, I'm just grabbing the door for you, we're not there yet.'

_Jesus._

No wonder Happy had tried his best not to leave him alone with the kid in the car. Tony even suspected him of wanting to slip a word of warning to him; he had been weirdly insistant when the kid had assured him he could carry his own suitcase home. With his super-strength. Yeah._ Shit._

Happy was silent on their way to the Tower and so was Tony. But then, when he moved to escape to his lab again, his best friend grabbed him by the arm and _looked_ at him, brow furrowed, long and hard, as if he was looking for something there, _accusing_. He didn’t say a word.

‘Buddy, I’m perfectly aware of how gorgeous I am, but I think we should stay friends’, Tony quipped. Sarcasm. Self-defense.

Happy stepped back, averted his eyes, let out a heavy sigh of frustration then looked into Tony’s eyes again and said three little words that felt like a knife to the heart.

‘He’s fifteen!’, he hissed. ‘Fifteen, Tony!’, he added, genuine fear and a clear _What the fuck are you doing?_ in his eyes.

Tony huffed, his eyes wide. It was one thing to be vaguely aware of that problem in the back of his mind, but to _hear_ it, to have it said out loud like that… Happy had seen right through him when he hadn’t even admitted it to himself. Had he been that obvious? Had Peter noticed?

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._

He felt panic rising in his chest, knocking the air out of it. How _dare_ he. He felt attacked and _naked_, and when that happened…

‘Look, buddy, what you’re implying there’, he vaguely agitated his hand in front of Happy’s face, ‘I don’t like it one bit’, he snapped, hand and voice dropping, all humor vanishing, dark eyes holding his friend’s very serious gaze.

Happy looked away again and sighed through his nose in resignation.

‘Look, just get some sleep, okay?’, he said, reaching into his suit pocket and handing him a pill without looking at him. That’s all it was, sleep deprivation. Tony’s integrity was saved. Almost. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow’, he added, and then he was gone.

The first thing Tony did when he reached his lab was to put up a holo screen to test the Baby Monitor Protocol. Just that. Making sure everything was working, that’s all it was. All of a sudden, Spider-Man’s face was staring right back at him. He jumped, hard, a big splash of his Scotch landing on his thighs. The kid had the mask on, and was staring at himself in a mirror; of course he was. Tony switched it off immediately, heart hammering in his chest. It took him quite a while to calm down.

Green smoothie, pill, 8-hour sleep, and he would be back to normal.


	4. Berlin

_Breathe. That’s it, in and out, in and out._

He knew this would eventually come. He'd mentally prepared himself. He wasn’t stupid; he was bound to attract the Avengers’ attention, it was only a matter of time. A matter of where and when and who.

But he’d never expected Tony Stark in person to show up at his apartment after school.

He’d fantasized about it, sure, but he’d never believed it could actually happen; Iron Man casually flying by him one day during one of his daily patrols… ‘Hey, kid, we need to talk.’ He’d dreamt of being invited into his Tower, of walking by his idol’s side into a big conference room and of sitting around a glass table with Thor, Captain America and Black Widow all staring at him, drinking in his every word... And then he’d become rich and famous.

That was where the dream ended.

He would think about May. About what she had been through. She would freak the f out. 100%. And then he would think about the lifestyle of the rich and famous… He knew every Tony Stark tabloid story by heart. All of them were entertaining for sure, and most were funny as hell, but some made him feel uncomfortable, not to mention a few outright disturbed him. Did he really want to enter that world?

The rich and famous… It wasn’t him. It was as simple as that.

What he had thought would most realistically happen was a phone call, or one of Stark’s minions showing up after school one day and forcing him into a long, black car. They would easily find him. He knew what Stark could do. Like his best friend Ned, he believed in those conspiracy theories that claimed he owned super-secret spy satellites. He had kind of prepared himself to be led to him, to one day see some fancy doors open to reveal his childhood hero and the mysterious dark and damaged billionaire his teenage self tried not to think about too much. He’d even prepared a speech. Well, not an actual speech, but sort of words to say, so he wouldn’t make a total fool of himself...

All that came flying out the window when he saw him. Tony Stark. On his couch.

_Okay, okay, this is happening, this is happening, oh my god, oh my god, don’t freak out, breathe, come on, Peter, be cool, be cool, okay. HOLY SHIT. May, May’s right here, don’t screw up, come on Peter, come on, you’re Spider-Man, you’re Spider-Man, be Spider-Man._

After the genius left with a cheesy little wave to his aunt and a smirk on his face, and after an hour of convoluted lies sprinkled with some truth that she thankfully bought, he was finally able to return to his bedroom. He closed his door and proceeded to silent-scream for a full minute, careful not to knock anything down while he goofily jumped around the small space like an excited puppy.

_Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god._

He had to suppress an overwhelming urge to call Ned, to tell him everything, to have his best friend share the uncontainable excitement that was making him shake so hard. He couldn’t stop shaking. He remembered struggling to keep it under control moments ago, clasping his hands together, fidgeting, with Tony freaking Stark right there, staring at him, scanning him, _touching_ him.

He’d done okay, he thought.

‘Holy shiiit’, he whispered to his empty bedroom. An hour ago, Iron Man had been sitting right next to him, right here, on his bed. He let out a silent laugh and looked up at the ceiling, lips tight in a small smile, eyes suddenly a little wet with emotion. He then started packing Ben’s old suitcase with hopefully clean socks to go to Europe. He grabbed his pillow again and screamed into it. That was IN.SANE.

That night he had a dream. Usually he never remembered them. But when he woke up, sweating profusely and confused and painfully aroused, he remembered all too well, thank you very much. He stepped into a cold shower, refusing to take care of his little problem with _that_ still imprinted in his mind… Fucking hormones. His treacherous mind conjured up a smug Flash telling him to _finally give in to his homosexual tendencies. ‘Come on, Penis Parker! Everyone already knows, anyway! And it’s 2016! No big deal now! _It turned out gay-shaming was still real in 2016, and hardly more subtle.

And he wasn’t even gay. He liked girls. A lot.

But who cared right now because he was going to Germany! As Spider-Man! To a super secret mission with Iron Man! It didn't feel real. Just saying that out loud sounded ridiculous. 

It felt like stepping into a really old noir movie when Happy came to pick him up in a long, expensive black car, sunglasses on, without a word other than ‘Get in, let’s go’, looking all grave and serious. He giggled and took his phone out. Oh, he was going to enjoy teasing the man. He couldn’t help it. He simultaneously felt like a little kid in a bouncy castle and a shy, overwhelmed nerd invited to the free tour of a Star Wars set. He had to film all this, he just had to. For posterity. God, he couldn’t stop making funny voices and snickering like an 8 year-old. Acting like a kid was a way for him not to freak out too much. The luxurious private plane had no pilot. _Hoooly shit!_

And the smell of fresh leather, of kerosene, and of… of… _money. _He suddenly wished he could take out his mask from his suitcase and put it on just to muffle his senses. He was sure he’d smelled Mr. Stark’s cologne when entering the plane.

He didn’t ask why Mr. Stark wasn’t here with them. He obviously had better things to do and was probably already in Berlin attending important meetings.

He followed grumpy Happy across a huge airport, literally bouncing from excitement, then into a car that he was sure must have transported really important people like the President of the European Union or some Nobel Prize laureates, and Happy told him they even had a little time for sight-seeing and wow. He was in Europe! In Berlin! He could almost feel the History creeping under his skin.

When Happy gave him the suit, he flipped out. Putting it on for the first time made him feel... _electrified. _

And something else._..  
_

This was insane, IN.SANE!

He couldn’t go to sleep, tossing and turning in his bed, constantly going back to inspecting his suit, already figuring out its electronic connective patterns, opening the mini bar, eating candy, playing with the fancy TV, flicking through the channels… He completely unintentionally ended up finding some shady pay-per-view. Porn. What the hell? He giggled, before accidentally pressing the remote right where he shouldn’t have. _Oh. My. God. No, no, no, no, no, no._

The movie instantly started with hilariously typical porn jazz. At least Peter thought it sounded like jazz. That was definitely a saxophone. He pictured clumsy, nerdy little Jimmy from his marching band playing that tune for the movie and he had a fit of uncontrollable laughter that really did the trick to relieve some of the tension in his muscles. Because he was nervous. Who wouldn’t be in his situation?

His thumb was ready to press the off button of the remote, but it stopped when who he assumed was the star of the movie appeared. A CEO. No, just a businessman. No, more like a lawyer. Anyway, he wore a fancy suit. He was tall and menacing and he was shouting at a scared assistant who was flinching from the humiliation. He looked like an asshole. Peter couldn’t look away.

It wasn’t long before the abusive boss was mercilessly pushing his assistant's panties down her legs and bending her over his desk.

Peter was frowning. This… was all shades of _wrong_. He shuddered, gulped, readjusted his shorts, ignored the obvious, then finally pressed the button. The movie stopped, but he was now back to the main menu of that porn channel. He realized he was breathing too hard.

Why was it even available to him? Those types of channels were usually inaccessible. Why did he have access to every fucking channel? Besides, who the hell used a TV to watch porn anymore? 

Luxury hotel. Old business people. Oh, right.

_Turn it off. Turn it off. Turn the freaking TV off._

He did. Then switched the lights off. Then tossed and turned and oh. _Fuck it_. It’s normal. It’s natural. Especially for teenagers. Right.

_Come on, Penis Parker!_

He abruptly stood up, marched into the bathroom, stepped into the fancy shower, turned the faucet to cold water and pulled it all the way, almost forgetting about his super-strength and breaking it.

_Hooooooly shit, that’s cold._

He slept like a baby afterwards, but the next morning, he woke up with a huge problem. Pun intended. Well, not really. The sheets were wet. Another one of those dreams had taken care of it for him. Thank God he didn't remember anything this time. He opted for completely ignoring the problem and hoped never to bump into one of those room service ladies that took care of the laundry. _It’s alright, just—don’t think about it. It’s normal. No big deal. Shut the fuck up, Flash._

The following morning at the airport, he tried to be as cool as possible, listening to Mr. Stark’s every word as if his life depended on it but without geeking out too much, and easily snatching Cap's shield and drawing everyone’s attention with the awesome suit Mr. Stark had given him. His dramatic entrance even managed to ease the tension for a small moment. 

But the situation was serious, really serious. He saw it on Mr. Stark’s face. Fear. He felt a little scared then too, so cracked some more jokes. That’s what he did when he was Spider-Man: cover the fear and the uncertainties with witty remarks. He talked to himself too. A lot. It smoothed down the mad adrenaline rushes a little bit.

‘I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a fight before, but there’s usually not that much talking.’

‘Alright, my bad.’

He was strong, really strong, so fucking strong. He knew that if he had real proper training, he could beat them all, Cap included. All the while he hoped Mr. Stark was watching him. When he was Spider-Man, he felt limitless.

Except he wasn’t.

Ouch.

Someone touched him and he regained consciousness too quickly, grabbing what he was sure was his attacker’s wrists defensively before meeting Mr. Stark’s frightened eyes hovering over him. And then he was sent home, just like that.

Happy refused to tell him anything and he felt a little pissed at that, but still overexcited, the exhaustion somehow making his state of exhilaration even worse. They went back to the hotel, had dinner – the best food ever, oh my god – and then Peter was back in his room. He immediately took his phone out and proceeded to let some of that carefully repressed exhilaration out, just like he had during the fight, filming himself. Happy was not happy about that at all. He was fifteen and there were moments when he felt much older. That was not such a moment.

After Happy's sobering chiding, Peter quickly packed. His bed had been made, clean sheets and all. He had another twenty minutes. He couldn’t resist turning the TV on just to see if he was in the news at all. Incredibly, he wasn’t. On his way out, of course he had to walk past a hotel maid cleaning some dust off a fancy lamp right next to the elevator. He blushed furiously, pressing the elevator button at least four times. The maid just smiled at him.

When he returned downstairs, he knew something was wrong. Grumpy Happy was not just grumpy, he quickly noticed. More than worried. He was scared and Peter saw him clutching his phone before putting it back into his pocket.

‘What happened?’

‘None of your business. Grown-up stuff.’

Peter rolled his eyes. Yeah, like he didn’t just take on Captain America.

’By the way, next time try not to pay-per-view any adult movies.’

Oh god...

’How...’ he began, but the shame shut him up. 

They were walking towards the private jet after fifteen minutes of complete silence in the car when Peter grabbed Happy’s arm, forcing him to stop in his tracks and turn around.

‘Come on, Happy, please, tell me what’s going on. I could be out there. I could be helping’, Peter said, big pleading puppy eyes looking up. ‘Please.’

Happy sighed, closing his eyes momentarily, and Peter thought he’d won, but then he repeated:

‘Like I said, none of your business.’ Peter looked away, frustrated to no end. ‘Listen kid, you did your part out there and you did good; but now it’s time to go home. Okay?’

He could be helping them right now. Helping Mr. Stark. But he nodded slightly in defeat.

He didn’t sleep at all during the flight home. What if something really bad happened and he could’ve helped? What if something bad happened to Mr. Stark?

He was walking into Stark Tower barely registering his surroundings when Happy finally gave him some information. War Machine had been badly hurt. Mr. Stark was okay, but Captain America had escaped with Barnes. The situation was under control. That sounded like a lie.

Mr. Stark was okay. That had sounded real.

He collapsed onto a huge bed and fell asleep in seconds.


	5. Discovery

He was in Mr. Stark’s Tower. In one of Mr. Stark’s beds. Well, it was a guest room, sure, but it was still technically his bed.

The minimalistic space was far too large for a bedroom, he thought. He wondered how you could feel all cozy and comfortable in places like that. _Mr. Stark must be used to it_, he shrugged. It felt cold and soulless to him. The view was stunning however, the sky all clear that morning, the horizon stretching miles and miles beyond the city. He wondered if he could climb all the way up here, to that very window. Nah, too high, that would be too scary.

‘Good morning Mr. Parker.’ Peter jumped. He did a 360 before realizing this was the voice of an AI. Mr. Stark’s AI.

‘I trust you had a good night’s sleep given your perfectly healthy vitals.’

Peter’s eyes widened at that, and his head slightly tilted backwards comically, his lips tight in an amused pout. _What the…that’s… kinda creepy!_

He was inside the home of a man who owned super secret spy stuff, after all. What did he expect?

He went on to do perfectly normal things. He took a shower, got dressed, watched some TV and had breakfast with Happy, waiting for Mr. Stark to show up and bring him home. Well, except none of the above tasks had seemed anything close to normal.

He felt like the only human being on a strange but super cool spaceship, studying the weird customs of his polite hosts. For one, the super rich needed their space. Definitely. A loooooot of it. He accidentally spat the first time he stepped into the bathroom because of the surprised, closed-lip laugh he let out. Now, that was just ridiculous.

Waiting for Happy at an endless kitchen counter made out of cement and what seemed like a type of carbon fiber he'd never seen before, he had a feeling that if he asked Tony Stark's faithful associate to have lobster and caviar for breakfast, the man would simply reach under the counter and retrieve a fucking lobster and some fucking caviar. Or maybe all those discreet drawers and cupboards were empty, and everything was actually fake. Like in Ikea.

He was back to giggling uncontrollably, or trying not to.

Messing around helped with the uneasy feeling of not belonging here, of being a stranger not only to Mr. Stark’s life but to this entire life style, not to mention to whatever had happened last night who-knows-where with Mr. Rhodes and Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes.

He immediately stopped when Happy sat down across from him. They ate in silence. Awkward. Peter had bacon and eggs; he was a simple dude. He tried a sip of coffee for the first time, only because Happy informed him it was the most expensive on Earth, trying to make small talk for the first time since they’d met.

‘Nope’, he just said.

The disgusted face he made had the tiniest effect on Happy’s own face but he still saw it; an almost smile. Almost.

God, the taste lingered in his mouth. ‘That’s disgusting.’ And then Happy chuckled.

_Victory!_

That was when Mr. Stark came in. He looked… bad. Bruised. Tired. But he was his usual charming self, eating up all the air in the room with his effortless wit and charisma.

Peter sort of… shut down when the man was close to him, he came to realize. Sort of like when you’re experiencing something awesome that you know is fleeting and will end soon and your brain just kind of takes a step back and you just let yourself… enjoy the moment. He felt younger and just… dumb. In those moments —and there had only been like, what… three?—, it took him some effort to get a grip, and for his smart and mature self to take the wheel back from… whatever he was reduced to.

_A drooling fanboy. That’s what it is. Yeah._

The worst was when he touched him. Not just invaded his personal space but actually touched him, like right now. Mr. Stark’s arm was around him, holding him close, his left hand grabbing his left shoulder hard. They were taking pictures for May with a fake certificate, striking different poses, each of them more ridiculous than the previous one. He felt like Mr. Stark's friend in that moment.

In the backseat of one of his crazy cars, the older man requested they do an alibi video for his aunt as well and he leaned towards him, smiling. Peter’s nose was filled with the expensive cologne and something else, warmer. Mr. Stark’s natural scent, that was what it was. He was stunned, wide-eyed and flustered, but managed to hold his phone out without any tremors. Thank God for his powers. He felt the warmth of the man’s body all over his right side, and his breath on the right side of his face. Mr. Stark chuckled after a joke about his aunt, a somewhat sexual one, and Peter turned his head towards him for a second, just to look at him laugh, and yes, to get more of his breath on him.

_So close._

He’d never liked having other people’s breaths on him. Especially not over his nose. Gross! Who liked that? And that was coffee he smelled! And he hated coffee! So why did he love it? What was wrong with him? What was happening to him?

Oh he knew. Of course he knew. He wasn’t that stupid, even in this state. And yet for a last time, he desperately tried to hold onto his innocence, but he felt it slipping through his hands like sand and it was now falling down the cliff of his so very obvious and so very wrong desire.

So long, innocence.

He was falling too. Head first. His heart was pounding in his chest, he swallowed several times, he was sweating and fuck no.

_Shit_. _Get a grip, Parker!_

Mr. Stark went on joking for the entire ride, but to Peter’s disappointment – and immense relief – he had retreated back to the other side of the car seat, as far away from Peter as possible, it seemed. Had he noticed? Peter couldn’t move. But Mr. Stark looked normal, despite the bruises, even joyful. The whole Sokovia situation must have turned out okay in the end. He also knew he wouldn’t be like that if his friend Mr. Rhodes wasn’t okay. Peter was relieved.

There it was, his street, and soon enough, there they were. When Mr. Stark asked to be left alone with Peter in the car, he felt a surge of excitement and swallowed hard. He put on his most innocent face and listened to his now mentor. His super mentor. He could keep the suit. He almost wanted to cry. And then it was over. He moved to open the door and step out, but suddenly, Mr. Stark’s body was all over him.

Peter blinked.

His completely frozen brain still managed to order his hands to awkwardly rest around Mr. Stark’s back. A reflex.

‘That’s not a hug, I’m just grabbing the door for you. We’re not there yet.’

_Oh. Oh, shit. Well, that is kinda funny. Whoo. Chill._

He stepped out of the car, legs a little like jelly, grabbed his suitcase, noticed Happy was strangely in a hurry all of a sudden, and then the car started abruptly, too fast, and he was back to his normal life.

‘They’re gonna call me’, he said to himself, childish excitement surging right back on.

Well, his life was not exactly normal, was it?

May wasn’t home yet. He sat on his couch and decided to calm down by having a little inner conversation with himself, just to clear things out.

So he had a crush on Tony Stark. Ooh, shocking! Only like every single human being ever! The man had been named sexiest man alive for who-knows how many times, had won fashion awards and stuff and was just… Tony freaking Stark. _Everyone_ had a crush on the man. And he was a teenager. A breathing cliché of raging hormones and random boners and weird crushes, and all of that was _perfectly fine_. No big deal there.

_Argh_.

A little voice in his head reminded him that Mr. Stark was his mentor now, or his boss, or whatever, and that given the state he was reduced to earlier in the car, this _was _an issue he had to worry about. But he ignored it.

He ignored the ache, the shame, the panic.

And so, in the middle of the night, after hours of trying to resist still, he finally surrendered to his desire and touched himself thinking of Mr. Stark.

Nobody would ever know, so why not just do it? Get it over with? Sexuality gave people weird thoughts, so what?

He had always pleasured himself on his stomach, slowly humping his mattress, his pillow in his arms, his head buried in it, imagining himself embracing a girl, kissing her, being inside of her, and he’d finish with his hand when the pressure became too much.

That night however, after tossing and turning and trying to resist the terrible, terrible thoughts plaguing his mind and the temptation to just go for it, he spat in his right hand, grabbed himself and unceremoniously started to pump his fist, squeezing hard. He came too quickly, almost painfully, with barely the time to slap his left hand firmly onto his mouth to stifle a shout, but the force of his orgasm was such that it knocked the air out of his lungs, forcing him to exhale loudly, draw back some air through his mouth, half-gasping, half-moaning, before letting out a loud whine, unable to control the grip of his hand anymore. The pleasure was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He felt it _up to his eyes._

And then it was over, his heart hammering slowly.

_Oh my god I was loud. Oh so very loud._ _Oh my god._

The shock and shame froze him to the spot. There was absolutely no way May hadn’t heard him, he felt sure of it. He was frozen, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights, his left hand still on his mouth, panting through his nose, his right hand and chest and even neck glistening with cum in the moonlight. He couldn’t move. Her room was right next to his and they had thin walls. He had always been completely silent before. He had always laughed at all the porn stars with their exaggerated moans and grunts when he knew how silent his own orgasms were, and probably were for a lot of people. God, how wrong he’d been, he’d had no idea… No fucking idea of how good it could feel because fuck, that was… that was _brutal_.

Maybe he _was_ gay after all. But that didn’t make sense, he knew it. Were bi people sometimes more attracted to one gender or the other?

_Oh come on, Peter, don’t play innocent. You know why._

He’d thought about that gigantic bedroom, about the bed he’d slept in the night before, and of Mr. Stark suddenly entering, menacing, looming over him and… and about himself doing… doing _that _to Mr. Stark and... and Mr. Stark pushing… _Jesus._

_Hormones. Hormones. No big deal._

Now that he knew he could lose control like that, he had to be extra careful. He slowly let his left hand finally fall from his mouth and stared at the ceiling, still breathing heavily.

He could feel like that. Wow. The wonders of the human body. He wondered if it could be that good for women too. If he could make somebody else feel like that. If he could make Mr. –

He stretched his arm out and reached for his box of tissues on the nightstand, not without some cum dripping down the side of his chest and onto the mattress. _Damn it_. Being a girl was probably easier when it came – haha – to that. He pictured the ever sarcastic girl from his class rolling his eyes dramatically at that. _Yeah. Sure. Being a girl is easier._

May said nothing the following morning, nor did she act any different. He really had the best aunt ever. Or maybe she was just fast asleep at that moment.

He didn’t jerk off for a week after that. He had other things on his mind anyway. Right.

The truth was, he didn’t want to do it again. Too risky. If he’d let himself lose control like that once, how could he trust himself not to do it again, in the heat of the moment? Could he trust himself enough to control his own thoughts when he was… Could he?

He ended up sprinting to the shower when May went out to run some errands the following Saturday and let it happen again. But he wasn’t loud this time, though it was still quite good. Maybe because he was now too much aware of what could happen. Of how it could feel. He had tried to control his thoughts but failed. Maybe that’s why it wasn’t as good, because he had tried to control himself? Or maybe it’s just simply never as good as the first time. Maybe next time...

He really should have felt more guilty about sexualizing his mentor but he didn’t. It still felt like a celebrity crush. Something that is purely the product of your imagination and that has zero chance of ever happening in real life. Mr. Stark didn’t feel any more real than a movie star on a magazine cover. It felt harmless.

_But you’ve met him. You actually know him now. He looked at you. He talked to you. He touched you. Several times._

_But it still feels like a dream. It still doesn’t feel real. _

_But you will get the call, and eventually, you’ll get used to being around him… _

_Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. _Then he would definitely stop. That would be creepy not to.

Three months later, he was still waiting.


	6. Tracker

Peter came home to his aunt crying. Her boss had to cut her paycheck by 20% this month. She wouldn’t be able to pay the rent on time. Again. She was pacing in the kitchen area, angry and panicky, and began explaining in a high voice that she had called their landlord to apologize and the son-of-a-bitch had _insulted_ her over the phone and threatened to kick them out. Again. Peter held her close and then made dinner, all the while thinking about a certain billionaire who probably earned a year’s worth of their rent in a single minute.

The next morning, Peter’s inactive teen bank account had been transferred $10,000 from a certain Mr. Deutsch. The thing was, Peter hadn’t said anything. It was obviously for what he’d done in Berlin, the pun not exactly subtle, but the timing made him wonder…

Nah, Mr. Stark wouldn’t_ spy_ on him. This was probably just a coincidence. And Berlin was only a week ago; bank transfers could take a while, especially when they came from a fake account secretly run by a billionaire, he figured.

They had found out by mail, a fancy letter of congratulations presenting the money as his scholarship for the Stark Internship. Instead of jumping and screaming with joy, May had stared at the letter for a while, and then proceeded to adamantly refuse any help from him, because it was _his_ money, _he_’d earned it with his hard work and brilliant mind, and he’d need it for college. It took a lot of effort and patience from Peter to finally manage to convince her to take half of it. After all, she was his guardian, so it only made sense for him to take care of her money problems because that affected him as well. They went out that night and ate at a fancy Italian restaurant. Peter hadn’t seen his aunt this relaxed for a long time. Money couldn’t buy happiness, but that didn’t mean the lack of it wasn’t a damn big obstacle sometimes.

To Peter’s bewilderment, she told him the following morning that she had received a quick phone call from Mr. Stark himself after they’d both gone to bed. He’d simply wanted to make sure they had received the letter, and had again praised her nephew. 

‘I mean, it was nice and all, but who calls like that at 11:30pm? Couldn’t he have waited until morning?’ May said.

He saw the Wikipedia page for Tony Stark open on her laptop that afternoon, and noticed her a few more times that week googling things about him, reading articles on him, and the look on her face told him that she didn’t exactly like what she was learning about her nephew’s mentor on the Internet. 

She found them a new apartment soon after, not that much bigger and only a few blocks away, but cutting all contact with that jerk of a landlord had seemed vital; a way for her to regain her dignity and start over. Peter was over the moon. He went to Ikea with Ned to pick up some furniture for his new bedroom, and treated himself – or Ned, who didn’t sleep well on his old inflatable mattress – with a bunk bed, which meant better, ergo more frequent sleepovers!

And his bedroom wasn’t right next to May’s anymore.

He tried to pretend all of this didn’t feel a little weird; to feel Mr. Stark’s imprint on his life like that. Just like the suit. He couldn’t get over the fact that he had designed it just for him.

The first and only text he got from Happy came the evening of the day he and Mr. Stark had dropped him home.

**I want daily reports of your activities. Stay safe. No messing around. **

And so he complied. During the first few weeks, even though Happy never texted him back, he always picked up when Peter called him. But after a month or so full of reports about some petty thefts, car accidents and random acts of kindness, Mr. Stark’s grumpy associate started outright ghosting him.

Every time he tried to ask Happy about Mr. Stark, the man would change the conservation or simply end their call, subtly at first, but after a while, it became quite obvious to Peter, and he couldn’t help but think something was wrong, even though there was, like, an 80% chance this was just because what Mr. Stark was up to was none of his business. He only managed to extract an annoyed _‘Tony’s fine.’_ from the ever annoyed Happy, and that should have been enough, but it wasn’t.

_Did he notice? In the car? Is he avoiding me because of this?_

The thought never lasted more than the fraction of a second before he forced himself to forget again.

He tried to go on with his life not thinking about Mr. Stark’s eyes, about Mr. Stark’s firm hand on his shoulder, about how when his suit squeezed tight around his entire body, he felt engulfed by Mr. Stark’s phantom presence. He couldn’t wait for school to end every day, just to be able to feel it again. 

‘Since when do you drink coffee?’ Ned asked, frowning at his friend when he ordered a Caffè Latte at a local Starbucks. 

The longer he was waiting to hear from Mr. Stark, the guiltier he felt about his secret desires. After a second instance of not being able to stifle a moan, he decided to stop altogether, to stop trying to find excuses for himself.

_You gotta stop, Peter, you know him, that’s messed up. That is so messed up._

He tried to focus his adolescent, hormone-fueled mind on Liz Allan instead; the prettiest, smartest, sweetest girl in Midtown Tech. And frankly, that wasn’t hard at all. He focused on her beautiful lips and her beautiful eyes and her perfect body and her oh-so-perfect voice. And she smelled so good. So, so good… Flowery and musky and a little like strawberries and it made Peter want to bury his nose into her hair. He felt a little overwhelmed when she was close to him.

_Good, that’s good. Reassuring. Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m not crazy._

But he was just a sophomore and she was a senior and there was no way an awkward guy like him would ever interest someone like her. At least that’s what he thought until two weeks later in PE when he overheard her saying she found Spider-Man hot. Ned, now his trusted wannabe guy-in-the-chair after a forgotten sleepover, pointed out to him that now that he was Spider-Man, he could basically get any girl he wanted. He was so cool now.

Except he wasn’t. He was Peter Parker, an awkward fifteen year-old with acne and zero experience and an embarrassing stutter whenever he was around people he had a crush on.

Still, he couldn’t help but lock himself up in his room that night, put his mask on, tell the Suit Lady to temporarily shut down, and slowly jerk off in front of his mirror imagining Liz all starstruck and horny. He definitely didn’t think about the fact that this was Mr. Stark’s creation tightly hugging his head.

At the peak of his pleasure, Liz’s sweet face was replaced by the dark, piercing eyes of a certain someone.

After that… _experiment_, he lost it. And it happened again. And again, and again. Far too many times. Usually after a good few hours of patrolling the city. He would take the suit off but not the mask and do it as Spider-Man, looking at his own reflection or just laying on his bed. He would enjoy the feeling of the tight Stark Industries fabric around his head, muffling his panting.

A fucking paranoid little voice in his head warned him about the insane possibility of being spied on by Mr. Stark, of the mask having some sort of spying feature. But it turned him on even more. And that made him feel… bad. Abnormal. Twisted. Like a pervert.

He couldn’t reassure himself anymore, couldn’t convince himself, couldn’t _lie_ to himself anymore. _Godammit_! This wasn’t okay, not okay _at all_.

He sought Liz out at school every day, stared at her a little too much for it not to be creepy, relieved every time her sweet figure came into view and his body wasn’t indifferent.

That meant he was split between being a perfectly normal teenager and a fucking twisted little pervert who jerked off to a middle-aged man who could be his – 

_God._

When he first came across some crazy alien tech that bank robbers had tried to use against him, to say he was excited was an understatement.

_That’s it, that’s it, yes, maybe this time_!

Happy took his call, but to Peter’s disappointment, didn’t really listen to him. He didn’t take him seriously at all, even though Peter was sure that those weapons were crazy dangerous and that they were linked to something big.

Then one night, during a high school party, just as he was realizing that he didn’t have it in him to actually use his Spider-Man alter ego just to get girls , he caught a glimpse of the same blue stuff but this time it was a huge flare in the distance and he _knew_.

_Finally some serious action_.

This was the same thing, he was sure of it. That meant he was right and Happy was wrong. He didn’t call him. He’d show him what he was capable of. He’d show Mr. Stark.

This had to be big. That was it, it was his chance. He would take care of it, then call Happy because of some real threat this time. Happy would be impressed and thankful and… and maybe, maybe they’d invite him back to the Tower to talk about it and he’d finally see him again.

He had them, he almost had them.

‘Just… a little… closer!’, he panted, chasing after the dangerously equipped criminals by jumping from roof to roof in a quiet suburban area.

‘Surpriiiise!’, he chanted, finally jumping on their van after a long detour.

A thing caught him.

‘What the hell?’

Two terrifying green dots of light stared at him and he was lifted through the air by a guy with giant, metallic wings at a mind-numbing speed, the ground hundreds of feet away within seconds. Suddenly, something burst out of his back and tugged him forcefully backwards, towards the ground. A parachute, he realized, head and arms and legs helplessly caught in the fabric. It opened wrong. Oh my god, he was free-falling. The guy was not grabbing him back. He had to free himself from the parachute and fast. He had to. He had to. He couldn’t. All his senses were screaming.

He was going to die.

He connected with water, hard, still tangled in the parachute. His ears were filled with the sound of his heart beat going crazy. He couldn’t break free. He couldn’t. Water entered his lungs and he couldn’t breathe.

He was going to die.

His vision turned black, the soft blue controls of his mask fading away.

When he regained consciousness, he was in the air again, soaked to his bones, pressure below his armpits. Someone had him. Someone had saved him. He lifted his head, trying to get a look behind him and there he was.

Iron Man.

‘Oh.’

_Okay, be cool, be cool. You’re a kid, he’s like 50, don’t let it show, be cool._

His imposing mentor in full Iron Man glory gently put him down in the middle of a playground, right onto a merry-go-round. 

_Okay, how was that not totally intentional._

Mr. Stark was silent for a moment, hovering next to him, looking at him. He wondered how he’d found him. His satellites? But how would he know something was going on? Tracker. Mr. Stark had put a tracker in his suit. That had to be it.

_No, no, no, don’t think about that, don’t think about that. _

Iron Man let out a frustrated sigh before asking him what the hell happened, something like the trace of lingering fear in his voice.

Peter felt so small and cold and slightly humiliated, but also giddy with the excitement of finally being reunited with Mr. Stark, of being taken care of by him; hell, of having just been saved by the man, his flanks still tingling from where Mr. Stark’s suit had clung to him. It was hard not to act like a kid when Iron Man was looming over him like that.

And so he was dismissed as one, the guy with the wings as a minor threat, and yet Peter _knew_ he could do more; he _knew_ that those guys were selling weapons that were _crazy_ dangerous and… he wanted to impress Mr. Stark, to do more, to _show_ him he could. But Mr. Stark was just like Happy. Peter didn’t blame him. He understood.

‘How’d you find me? You put a tracker in my suit or something?’, he couldn’t help himself. There was no way he could go on secret missions of his own if his mentor had indeed all eyes on him at all times. He had to make sure, and if Mr. Stark denied it, Peter would ask for Ned’s help, take the suit apart, find it and hack it anyway.

‘I…put everything in your suit. Including this heater.’

Sudden blissful warmth erupted all over his body, effectively drying him up. Peter let out a long and surprised breath of relief, trying not to outright moan, trying not to think about the fact that Mr. Stark could’ve just told him that; he could’ve just let Peter turn it on, but no. He did it _himself_.

_Which meant he had full control over his suit_ _at any times._

_Fucking. Stop._

‘That’s better, thanks.’

‘What were you _thinking_?’

Great. He was now being chided by his Iron Dad. What was the point of having these powers if he couldn’t use them against real threats? He could stop a bus with his bare hands, for God’s sake! He sighed away his frustration.

‘Anyway, Mr. Stark, you didn’t have to come all the way out here. I had it, I was fine.’

‘Oh, I’m not – _here_.’

Peter’s face fell. _What the – _

It was stupid to feel cheated and angry and a bit humiliated at that but he was.

‘Look, forget about the flying Vulture guy, _please_!’

‘_Why?_’, Peter snapped far too loudly.

‘Because I said so!’, Mr. Stark snapped back, even louder.

A minute later, the empty Iron Suit took off like a mini rocket, Mr. Stark being 'no longer connected'.

_Stay close to the ground... Help the little people..._

Okay, _fine_. If he didn’t believe he was ready for more than being a ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’, he would _show_ him. He would show him he was _more than a kid_.

It turned out he wasn't after all.


	7. Voyeur

When Tony Stark got obsessed with something, to try and get him to stop was like trying to tear a lion away from the antelope he'd just caught. Happy took on the enormous task of organizing the move out of Stark Tower into the brand new Avengers’ compound all the while babysitting the object of his new obsession.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew his boss and best friend by heart. He would recognize the signs even blindfolded. The break-up had already done a lot of damage. And then Rhodey and things falling apart with Cap and the Avengers… Tony was back to locking himself up in his lab, to drinking too much, to too many sleepless nights… That behavior with the kid in the car was just another symptom of yet another nervous breakdown. Pure and simple.

But what could he do? He couldn’t stop a lion.

But maybe Pepper could.

* * *

‘Oh yeah, gotcha.’

ACDC's _You Shook Me All Night_ _Long_ blasting loud in his lab, he was perfecting the tenth prototype of a revolutionary material consisting of nanostructures that could alter their own architecture on demand. No way another tiny product of Pym’s crazy theories was gonna crawl his way up into his suit again! Kind of ironic he’d come up with the idea after finally reading some of the guy’s reports on Quantum particles... Using and outsmarting other people’s work, making history while eating pizza—it was routine for Tony Stark.

So what if he was building another suit for the kid already? He had to test his new-found material out on some practical goal. He would then build his own Mark 48, and Rescue would get the same update shortly after. He had to make sure they were as ready as they could be if aliens came back not just to say hello, and he had to protect the kid just like he had to protect everyone else, especially since he was the one who’d found him, the one who’d dragged him into all this. He was his personal responsibility.

Besides, constantly thinking about the Iron-Spider Suit kept him from thinking about Peter Parker. No, building a suit for him didn’t count. He ignored the look on Happy’s face when his friend realized what he was working on 24/7 until he would collapse from exhaustion.

So what if he included direct access to the Baby Monitor Protocol to his glasses? If anything happened to the kid, he had to be able to respond fast at any given moment. And sure enough, it happened a few weeks later when Peter was thrown into a lake. So what if he activated the Spider Suit’s heater himself, letting the kid know how much control he had over it? He was freezing, for God’s sake! That was it. He was fond of Peter Parker and felt protective towards him.

Like a _father figure_.

He mentally cringed but convinced himself anyway.

He was taking the pretty pink path towards straight-up denial.

And then it happened. It was as if he had been waiting for it, as if all of his efforts had led him to that very moment. If that was true, that made him a fucking disgusting human being. His brain was burnt with the image. He took his glasses off immediately, of course.

‘Jesus Christ on a scooter!', he exclaimed. He shook his head in a frenzy, trying to erase what he’d just seen, his eyes wide with shock. ‘Okay! Okay. Okay, no big deal there, teenager...’ He got up from his lab chair. ‘Bad, _bad_ Peter.’

His well-oiled defense mechanism made him laugh it off. His conscience and his very _love_ for the boy made him stay away from the available footage for _a full month_. In the meantime Pepper came down one evening with a bottle of champagne to celebrate some business deal he couldn't care less about, and they made up, just like that, effectively silencing Happy's fears. But his desire…

His desire got the better of him one sleepless night, Pepper away in France for a meeting. He got drunk and investigated further into the kid's life, reading about his past, spying on his high school profile, on his Internet history, on his laptop content... He read notes the kid had written on the suit he'd designed for him and couldn't believe how much he'd found out from just observing its connective patterns. What a fucking genius in the making.. _shit._ When he saw the kid had a special Iron Man folder with dozens of pictures of him spanning _decades_, he lost it.

He was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. One more moment of crucial hesitation.

_Don't do this._

He gave a few shaky taps to his glasses and accessed the forbidden footage.

_Fuck it. Nobody will ever know anyway._

The kid had the mask on but was otherwise completely naked.

_Shit. What am I doing. What am I doing?_

His body was toned as fuck.

_Stop. Stop watching. _

He looked at himself for a moment, and then started caressing his chest, his abs and finally his cock, and only then did Tony allow himself to really _look_ at it. It was visibly rock hard, average, pink and perfect. He started playing with himself, making it bounce a few times.

_God, shit, fuck... Why the fuck am I still watching?  
_

And then Spider-Man dropped to his knees in front of his mirror and started full-on jerking off. 

_I'm not supposed to see this. I'm not supposed to see this._

He was soon panting, and it was the sound of his pleasure that made Tony finally start to touch himself.

_Fuck it._

Peter stilled all of a sudden.

‘God…’, he breathed out.

‘Shit’, Tony replied to the saved footage. This was _wrong_. He was spying on a teenager pleasuring himself. This was very, _very_ private and this was a _kid. What the fuck is wrong with me?_

_Peter_...

Tony was _wrecked_. He hadn’t been that aroused since… he didn’t know when.

The view from the mask went up and everything was almost hidden for a few seconds before Peter looked down at himself again. He started giving full long strokes and every now and then lost control of his rhythm and went a little faster, letting out a very soft little high-pitched moan, his eyes going up, fully hiding the view again.

_Oh no, let me see you..._

He then straightened up on his knees, still holding himself, and his thighs trembled ever so slightly.

_You’re fucking perfect._

He stopped, then went fast and hard, then paused, then did it again, every time releasing one of those exquisite little moans just before pausing. He was close and Tony was _gone._ Jaw slack, panting like the boy, eyes wet from the sheer intensity and the excruciating taboo of it all.

_Peter... sweetheart... What have you done... what are you doing to me?_

He couldn’t look away even if he tried.

‘Oooh…oooh…oooooh!’

The kid put his left hand over his masked mouth to muffle his cries and collapsed backwards against a leg of his desk, overcome with his release and unknowingly preventing Tony from seeing him come. All he had now was the sounds sweet, witty, brilliant, kind and apparently not-so-innocent Peter Parker made when he was at the peak of pleasure. Oh, how he would have given his entire fortune to be able to see his face at that moment.

‘Oh, god', Peter whispered after he was done. He didn’t move, and then looked at the mirror again. He was sitting bonelessly on the floor against his desk, frozen in post-orgasmic bliss, transparent sperm all over his perfect chest and even up to the left side of his mask. ‘I am… so… totally screwed’, he whispered in-between breaths, and Tony wondered what he meant exactly by that.

He replayed everything and came with the kid, _hard_.

Coming down from one of the strongest orgasms in his life, he tore the glasses away from his face and was met with the ceiling of his large and empty bedroom, struggling to calm his breathing, even wondering for a second if he was having a heart attack.

That was when he first thought about killing himself.


	8. Father Figure

He agreed to go to therapy. 

Pepper, who had tried for  years  to make him go, was taken aback and relieved beyond words. The same day, he also stopped drinking, getting rid of every single one of his priceless bottles of Laphroaig, giving some to Happy who looked like he had just seen him donate his entire lab to a community college. That flabbergasted look turned to wary skepticism until he actually met with Dr. Szafran, a renowned psychiatrist specialized in PTSD, and went on not to miss a single weekly appointment with her. Happy wondered if there was a God after all.

The night that had actually triggered this sudden surge of life-altering willpower had  never happened as far as Tony was concerned.

_ It never happened, and it will never happen again. _

He quickly erased the Baby Monitor Protocol from the tiny dashboard of his glasses – the kid could survive blasts from alien weapons and huge falls, he’d be fine – and for a few weeks, he forced himself to forget about him, forget about the nanotech suit, forget about work altogether. He talked to Dr. Szafran about his mom, his dad, his nightmares. He worked out a lot, watched Game of Thrones, furnished the brand new compound, went on lavish date nights with Pepper and made sweet love to her. He even went on vacation with her for a week in Barbados and came back tanned, giggly and giddy from all the sex. He buried himself into all things Pepper and felt rejuvenated. Happy was the happiest he’d been for a long time. 

When the accident at the Washington monument happened, he learned about it in a text from his friend, and even though it was pretty obvious the kid had been responsible for it happening in the first place, he couldn’t bear thinking about him for more than a minute so let it go and decided to give him a quick call of congratulations when he’d feel like it.

Something dark and desperate in his heart actually wished for Peter’s death. It would solve everything. It would save him from what was happening to him in a definitive albeit horrifying way.  But then he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. 

He felt trapped.

He actually talked about Peter to Dr. Szafran, about the weight of responsibility and the fear he felt for him, and she asked him whether he ever thought about becoming a father, telling him it wasn’t too late. She interpreted Tony’s reaction as a form of denial.

Yeah, _no shit._

But Tony went along with it. Everyone seemed to see him as a mentor, a father figure to Peter. Everyone was fooled. Everyone except Happy. Oh, he’d managed to reassure his friend almost completely, but the clever man hadn’t forgotten what he’d seen, and Tony felt his ears and eyes on him during every short, strictly necessary interaction he had with the kid.

When he finally called Peter during a long traffic jam to congratulate him for what he did in Washington, Happy was listening to every word, every inflexion of his voice for a sign; he knew he was. Tony mentioned his own father and played his part perfectly.

When he realized the kid was lying to him, had hacked the suit and made the flying vulture guy split a ferry in half, he went into full-on dad mode and took the suit away from him as a lesson, almost making him cry.

‘I don’t have any other clothes.’

A flash of Peter’s naked body slipped through the cracks. He sent him to the Tower, ordering Happy to quickly grab some clothes for him, and flew away as soon as he could. Happy executed his orders, not missing an opportunity to take the piss out of the kid in his own way, but strongly disapproved, genuinely worried, and he let him know his concerns later that day before some Chinese take-away. He’d grown fond of the kid, Tony realized with an inner smile. 

‘Tony, he’s a good kid. I—What if he throws himself into danger again? How are we supposed to keep an eye on him now?’

No response.

’Tony?  _ Tony_?’

‘Mmh? Oh, he’ll screw up again. Or he won’t. Gotta let the chicks fly the nest and all that.’

Happy blinked. ‘He’s fifteen.’

For a second, they were back to that chilling moment three months ago.

‘And a superhero’, Tony quipped, putting the last chunk of his cheap fortune cookie in his mouth and standing up.

That seemed to settle it. He retreated to his brand new quarters in the now fully furnished Avengers’ compound. Happy stayed where he was, watching him walk away with a deep, pensive look on his face.

Tony had lunch with Vision the next day and choked on his San Pellegrino at an unexpected question from the wise Avenger.

‘Will Peter Parker move in here too?’

Why not? Here he would have the best training and would be safe. He would be around people like him, like them.  He would put the kid next to Vision to prevent any –

‘Uh, not part of the plan now, no’, he replied after regaining the ability to speak. ‘Kid’s not ready.’ Vision was fixing him intently,  curiously. ‘Got some hot sauce in my goatee?’

A month later, Happy was giving him a frantic phone call about a plane crash and all their most valuable cargo almost getting stolen by the Vulture guy and how Peter had caught him and saved everything and everyone. Tony was in a car with Pepper after a long, entertaining date night, already soft with sleepiness in the comfortable leather seat, and hearing all this about  _his Peter_ made his chest grew all warm and heavy and he had to get himself together.

‘He’s alive and well?’

‘I—er, I—yeah! Yeah, he left a note so I assume he is!’, Happy replied, still breathing hard from shock. ‘I’ll go and check right a—’

‘Good’, Tony cut in. ‘Clean that up, will you? Thanks, Happy. End call.’

_ That’s it. Short, fast. That way, you’ll always look mildly indifferent. _

Unfortunately for his nerves, Pepper was the one who suggested Peter move in with them after a quick call from Fury.

‘This is great news for the team, Tony. The kid’s exactly what the Avengers need right now. Besides, he needs proper training and—’, she paused, gesturing vaguely, ‘superhero…chaperoning. I’ll call the press right away.’

That was it. The kid was invited to the compound. This was happening. Today. 

He rehearsed in front of a mirror, something he never ever did, simply because he had never needed to.

_ Look and sound as indifferent as possible. No, not indifferent. Dad-like. That’s right. Get it over with as fast as possible. And whatever you do, no touching. _

He struggled when he saw Peter waiting for him all doe-eyed next to Happy, feeling his control already slipping dangerously. The kid was going to live here with him. How was he going to be able to function? He was going to lose his damn mind. He wouldn’t even admit it to himself, but he was terrified. Terrified of losing control.

‘Give me a minute with the kid.’

‘Seriously?’, Happy straightforwardly rebuked.  _In front of the fucking kid._

‘Yeah’, Tony immediately replied, not letting anything show, or trying at least. ‘I gotta talk with the kid’.

‘I’ll be close behind.’

‘How about a loose follow, alright? Boundaries are good.’

_ How dare he.  _

Peter looked star struck. Again. Tony punched his superhuman body in jest - part of the whole dad-slash-mentor disguise - before putting his arm around his shoulder, squeezing him close. Again. Fuck self-control. His entire left side instantly heated up, the warmth spreading to his chest, his heart a little constricted, and then words coming straight from his repressed desires went tumbling out of his mouth.

‘Sorry I took your suit. I mean, you had it coming. Actually, it turns out it was the perfect sort of tough love moment that you needed, right? To urge you on, right? Wouldn’t you think? Don’t you think? Let’s just say it was!’

‘Mr. Stark, I –‘

‘You screwed the pooch  _hard_, big time, but then you did the right thing. You took the dog to the free clinic, you raised the hybrid puppies… Alright, not my best analogy. I was wrong about you. I think with a little more mentoring you’ll be a real asset to the team.’

He didn’t register slipping the word  ‘love’ mere seconds after touching him, with him like that in his embrace, didn’t see the boy’s stunned blush, couldn’t stop himself from blurting the words  ‘urge’, ‘screwed hard’ and extending the old metaphor like that.

Happy was exactly where he’d said he’d be: close behind, watching, frowning, torn between thinking about what he  knew about Tony, what he was seeing right now, and what he’d witnessed these past few months: full recovery. The look on Tony’s face when he’d said ‘boundaries are good’ was a clear message. _Stop trying to imply this. Stop trying to control me. There’s  nothing  to control here._

He looked at the two superheroes. This was just classic Tony and his quips, nothing to worry about, right? He was fine, now. What he had noticed months before had been part of a nervous breakdown that was over now.

When Peter rejected the offer, Tony’s consciousness lost its veil for a second. He didn’t move, staring at Peter, trying not to get lost in those chocolate eyes, contradictory thoughts swimming in his head.

‘Thank you, Mr. Stark, but I’m good.’

‘You’re good? Good? How are you good?’

_He’s rejecting me. He’s rejecting  _ me?

Nobody had ever turned Tony Stark down. No one. 

_What the fuck are you thinking about, he’s not a potential partner, he’s not rejecting  you, he’s rejecting the offer to live here and become an Avenger._

‘You’re turning me down?’, he blurted out anyway.

But that was good. Perfect, actually.  That meant he would escape the catastrophic situation he was so scared about. This was unhoped for. Relief started to take over.

‘Look at me, last chance, yes or no.’

‘No.’

‘Okay. It's kind of a Springsteen-y, working class hero vibe that I dig. Uh, Happy will take you home. Yeah?’

‘Yeah’. Happy was also relieved, and impressed by the kid’s maturity.

‘Thank you, Mr. Stark.’

‘Yes, Mr. Parker. Very well.’ They shook hands, both were clammy.

‘See you around’, Peter said.

‘Okay.’

The kid started to leave with a spring in his step, but then slowed to a stop and turned around. Tony’s heart stopped, thinking he’d reconsidered.

‘That was a test, right? There’s, uh, nobody back there?’

‘Yes, you passed. All right, skedaddle there, young buck.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Stark. Thank you.’

‘Yeah, thank you.’

Peter walked away. Finally. Tony watched him leave, relieved but missing him already.

‘Told you he’s a good kid’, Happy said.

Later that day Tony sent the suit back to Peter and celebrated his very convenient engagement with Pepper, safely back into his fortress of denial.


	9. Nightmares

If he hadn’t boarded that ferry, the flying vulture guy wouldn’t have armed himself like that, and nobody would’ve been hurt. He’d been stupid. Irresponsible. _Childish_. The shock he felt when Tony Stark himself emerged from what he’d thought was another empty suit gave him a very strange nightmare that night.

He was back at the Tower, alone in the colossal lounge that seemed even larger than he remembered it, feeling tiny and uneasy. He looked over at the kitchen area, suddenly hungry, starving even, and walked over to the lengthy counter. It was a long, quiet, eerie walk, his footsteps echoing loudly, and the counter seemed to be moving too, away from him, and he felt dizzy, almost losing his balance before he finally reached it, crouched down in a typical Spider-Man way and opened a hidden cupboard only to find it empty. He tried another one and sure enough, it was empty too.

_‘They’re all empty’_, Mr. Stark’s voice cut in. Peter jumped and turned around. Mr. Stark was walking over to him, coming closer, and closer, and closer. Peter was sitting on the floor now, looking up, and up, and up, until Mr. Stark was all he could see.

_‘What d’you think you’re looking for here, kid? Huh? There’s nothing for you here, you hear me?’_

_‘But –‘_

_‘No, this is where you zip it!’_, he shouted, louder than he’d had in real life just before taking the suit back, and that’s where the dream ended. He didn’t sit up all sweaty and panting like in old movies, but he woke up his heart beating fast, with goosebumps all over and an urge to throw up. He walked very quietly to the bathroom and got ready to heave but nothing came, so he kneeled before the toilet for a long moment, before giving up and going back to bed. He lay awake for a long time before finally falling asleep, a frown on his face.

When he finally gathered the courage to ask Liz to the Homecoming party and she said yes, nothing else seemed to matter anymore. He saw himself giving his first kiss and forgot about anything else.

He had another nightmare the night before his big day, this time of the flying vulture guy grabbing May from the ferry, dropping her in the water; he dived in but couldn’t catch her, before drowning, helpless, waiting for Iron Man to come and rescue him. Drowning and waiting, waiting, waiting... but Iron Man never came.

When he saw the Vulture open Liz’s door the night of the party, his heart sank down to his _feet _and for a second he was back in that dream. He lost Liz that very instant but didn’t even think about it. It didn’t matter. He felt exposed even before she started unknowingly blabbing in the car and her dad _knew_.

After it was all over and he’d nearly died trying to stop Liz’s dad, the nightmares got more frequent. He dreamed of being back in that gigantic bedroom, sitting on the bed with Mr. Stark advancing towards him with _lust_ in his eyes only for the entire Stark Tower to collapse over them, crushing him_. _He dreamed he was back in the private jet with Happy when his chaperon abruptly shouted _‘No!’_ before he suddenly felt crushed. In another one he was searching for Uncle Ben in an endless pile of rubble and found a dead Mr. Stark instead.

It was like a dream when he was invited to the brand new Avengers’ compound and Mr. Stark put his arm around him just like he had in the car and offered him to be part of the team and _move in with them_. It was like a dream. Like _the_ dream. The one he’d had since he was a little kid. But those _other _dreams, and May still not knowing, and that entire lifestyle that simply wasn’t him, and the danger of staying close to Mr. Stark… All those thoughts made him say no to Mr. Stark’s face, right next to a magnificent Iron Spider Armor the genius billionaire had designed just for him.

He could have said yes. The beaming, exhilarated kid in him could have simply said yes to this stupid, crazy, unhealthy fantasy. And then what? He would have lived right next to the object of his insane desire and now plaguing nightmares – not to mention next to a cyborg that could walk through walls – and would have probably ended up doing something really, really stupid. Like popping a boner with Mr. Stark right next to him. Or being too loud in his room.

While secretly being watched.

‘No.’

May found out about everything shortly afterwards and it was just too much for him to handle. She ended up being the one who held the other close through a panic attack, whispering soothing words in his ears until he could properly breathe again.

‘It’s okay, sweetie, I’m not mad, I’m not freaking out, I'm not, I promise. I’m sorry I shouted like that. I’m okay, I really am, okay? I’m just – Okay, I’m freaking out a little but I’m gonna be okay, we’re gonna be gonna okay, sweetie. Look at me, Peter, look at me; _we’re gonna be okay._’

On the surface, things quieted down after that, and he was back to his boring, teenage self and his friendly neighborhood patrolling routine, more than gladly having his suit back. On the inside, however, he felt on the edge of a cliff.

It was a hot Saturday morning right before the start of the summer vacation when he received the text.

**Received my new shiny nanographic printing bot today. It’s got a super electron beam but no one wants to play with me :( Playdate? - TS**


	10. Scientific Method

The therapy really helped. Unsurprisingly, a lot of it was just bullshit to him, but it really did him some good anyway, to just talk. His psychiatrist thankfully remained clueless about what Peter really was to him. It was so easy to hide it under the myriad of other mental issues he’d been dragging along for years, even decades in some cases. Superiority complex, hero complex, alcoholism, daddy issues, not to mention the tremendous guilt... Yeah, he was basically a gold mine for shrinks.

He was waiting for a call from Rhodey, doing yoga, getting the hang of it now. It had become part of his and Pepper’s little morning routine, except she often woke up long before him and he ended up doing it alone. His current challenge was to hold a Vasisthasana for more than a minute. His current record of getting Peter out of his head was a little over 5 hours. He was making progress.

Switching to a meditation posture —fuck the Vasisthasana—, he decided to stop sweeping the rhetorical spider under the rug and just accept it: he was mentally ill, and he was not talking about his obsession with potential Earth invasions by hostile alien species. It was not exactly the worst kind of sexual perversion there was but he was dangerously close to it. He had to deal with it rationally, like the adult and scientist he was, in order to cure himself from this disease.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His thought process went more or less like this:

Observations:

1\. Basic symptoms of sexual desire for a fucking teenager. No need to go into detail, he wanted to bang a kid. Well, a teenager, not a full-on kid, _thank Jesus_.

2\. Signs of obsessive, ergo _serious_ infatuation. He felt warmth rising in him whenever he was close to him, chest tight, shortness of breath, aching heart, loss of control. This was far more worrying than the lust. That was why he had to do whatever he had to do with the kid as fast as possible before getting the fuck away from him.

3\. It had happened fast, really fast.

Questions:

1\. Why? Why the fuck was this happening to him? Never in his life had he been attracted to people much younger than him. The last time he’d fucked a teenager was when he was one himself, for Christ’s sake! Besides, teenagers and even most people in their twenties didn’t know shit about how to properly fuck someone. How many times had he come home with a twenty-something and spent a night of boring, awkward, bad-drama-school sex? He’d even had a thing for older people in his own twenties because of this, godammit!

2\. Why the infatuation? He didn’t even really _know_ Peter Parker. The most he knew about him he’d read on a fucking screen. How many hours had they spent together in total? Two? And his favorite activity was building Lego sets? This was ridiculous! How was he in love with a fucking _kid?_

_In love… Christ._

Okay, hypotheses:

1a. Middle-age crisis: he was getting old and getting old was low-key scary as hell. Peter was fifteen, so he was just unconsciously drawn to his youth because of good old repressed existential terror.

1b. Sexual weariness and the appeal of the taboo: maybe his sexual life had grown a little stale, a little boring, even though it was still good with Pepper. So what if it felt like routine? Intimacy with Pepper was the kind of comfortable, familiar haven you just _need _when you get to a certain age. He’d had his fair share of crazy sex for multiple life times. But maybe his dying wild side was giving a final jerk, like an insect still moving even after you’ve finally killed it. Probably linked to 1a. His lust had attached itself to an entirely new and forbidden object because it was bored. Because he’d done it all, oh yeah; except _fucking kids_.

2\. The kid was just too much like him. For the narcissist he was, it was bound to happen. The thing was, it had never happened before. Never in his life had he ever thought: _oh wow, we have so much in common!_ Because he was Tony fucking Stark. Peter was starkly unique, pun intended. A prodigy who loved to tinker old tech and build computers, who’d successfully invented a new material when nobody else would ever even have _thought_ of it, who was a fucking superhero with most likely PTSD now... Hero complex… Yeah, he had that too. That was the cocktail right there. The cause of observation 3. That was the source of it all: _he was too much like him._

But was he really, though? Those were undeniable common points, sure. But beyond that? Wasn’t it a construct of his mind, to see Peter as a sort of soulmate? Of course it was! It had to be! First of all, that concept of a soulmate was laughable. Second, it was obvious someone who was _a third_ _his age_ had a wildly different approach to life as well as interests, hobbies and references that he would never get. He’d seen that really old movie _Empire Strikes Back_ in theaters for God’s sake! If he really spent a lot of time with him, he would realize he was just that, _a kid_. And it would be over.

Suggested Experiment:

He would stop fantasizing about an imaginary soulmate by getting to know the real Peter Parker; spend more time with him to deflate the fantasy. After a while, and maybe faster than anticipated, he would realize they were actually almost nothing alike and that would be it. What would be left would just be genuine affection — _fatherly love._

Tony cringed.

And so he convinced himself that inviting Peter to spend the day with him was his best shot at curing himself from his obsession with said Peter.

He completely ignored the dangerous irony in that.


	11. Mistake

_This was a mistake. _

He was staring at himself in his long and narrow bedroom mirror, trying to decide whether or not to dress up a little bit. No, why would he dress up? What a stupid idea!_ It would be weird, don’t be weird, yeah, yeah, yeah, bad idea; jeans, T-shirt and a hoodie. Casual._

Happy had arrived early. He was sitting on the couch with May, smiling, chatting and eating a second slice of her apricot pie. The two adults had had lengthy phone conversations ever since she had found out the truth. When he was alone with him in the car however, Happy lost his new cheerful demeanor and seemed to be back to his old, grumpy self before he weirdly started doing some awkward small talk, casting quick glances at Peter in the rearview mirror. He even asked him if he had a girlfriend. After Peter said no, he just stopped talking for the rest of the ride. Something was off with Happy but he couldn’t put his finger on it. For a second he considered the possibility of him knowing about his secret crush but quickly dismissed it. _Nah, stop with the paranoia, he's just forcing himself to be nicer to you, maybe because he has a crush on May, nothing to worry about._

It started raining lightly and he almost fell asleep watching the drops slither down the car window.

'Almost there!'

His chest began to tighten when the compound came into sight and grew larger and larger as they drove closer. When the car finally came to a halt, he noticed someone was waiting for them. War Machine himself. Happy didn’t say anything, but when they stepped outside and greeted each other his body language told Peter this was a surprise to him as well. He seemed to relax, cracked a smile and went to say something to Mr. Rhodes but stopped himself, glancing at Peter.

Mr. Stark had apparently asked his friend to personally give him a tour of the facilities. Peter was flattered, excited, and a little relieved. It was only when they started walking that he noticed his prosthetic legs around his otherwise completely normal-looking body. The tour lasted an hour, Peter asking tons of questions and Rhodey – ‘Just call me Rhodey, everyone does here.’ – was glad to answer them in detail. He was nice, Peter smiled, but he had thought he would hang out with Mr. Stark. The colonel then told him ‘Tony’ would give him a tour of his personal lab-slash-workshop after lunch. Peter turned around so that Rhodey wouldn’t see him flush with excitement.

He sat at a fancy designer table – almost like he’d imagined – between War Machine and Black Widow and across from Vision. Next to the latter was Scarlet Witch. He was surprised to see her there after Berlin, but didn’t say anything. They seemed really kind but Peter could hardly speak with their intimidating super eyes on him. He briefly wondered if Vision could see inside his head just as he could pass through walls. A smartly-dressed waiter walked in, and after the Avengers ordered beer or sophisticated drinks like a ‘gin-free G&T’, he asked in a small voice if they had juice, before immediately cringing at how childish he had sounded. Natasha smiled with a look of ‘oh, how cute!’ on her face and Wanda teasingly told him they even had juice boxes, making Rhodey chuckle. _Great._ When the waiter walked away after he’d opted for orange juice, Natasha leaned towards him and sweetly said in her raspy voice: ‘It’s okay, you know, my G&T is basically juice too, just a tad fancier’.

He soon relaxed, feeling truly welcome here when they started asking him many questions in a friendly, casual way, especially Natasha who seemed genuinely curious about him; and so they had a pleasant pre-lunch drink as he told them about his school, his love for STEM, his hobby of building computers, about the web fluid he’d designed, about his daily patrols…

When Wanda asked him about his parents, Vision looked down and Natasha tried to give her a discreet look of warning, but he didn’t mind. The accident was a long time ago and he barely remembered them anyway. Ben had been harder. Nonetheless, his throat was tight when he took another sip of his juice and, to his horror, he realized his eyes were watering. That had not happened in a long time – he had thought he was used to it by now. Thankfully he managed to keep himself together, but there was an awkward silence after that. Natasha was the one that broke it, asking about today’s menu; Vision replied, Rhodey cracked a joke and that was it. They were all laughing again when he heard footsteps. His heart began to beat faster and sure enough, there he was, appearing behind the waiter, hands in the pockets of his pants.

He wore what looked like a dark gray sweat suit, complete with a hoodie. That was the most casual Peter had ever seen him. 

_Just a typical day at a super military base, having lunch with Iron Man._

'Now here is the prodigal son!', Mr. Stark exclaimed in a theatrical tone, before sitting next to Vision right when the waiter was putting down a plate before him. Natasha went on to say they had learned a lot about him and were 'truly impressed'.

‘You didn’t tell us how smart he was’, she said with a frown, eyes piercing but amused as well.

'Well, that wasn't exactly the special skill we were after then, was it?' he simply replied, before quickly directing the conversation towards a serious subject. And so the Avengers went on to debate about whether or not they should send someone to represent them at an important diplomatic event in Strasbourg. Mr. Stark didn't look at him at all, too busy discussing this important issue.

It was weird to see him eat. He didn’t know why but it really was, as if he was only seeing now that he was a normal human being. He tried not to stare. Rhodey threw a jibe at his old friend and Mr. Stark joked back and made everyone burst out laughing, his eyes crinkling. Not once did he look at Peter. Peter himself was half-listening, too busy trying to act normal in this surreal situation.

‘Maybe we should send Spider-Man’, he heard Natasha tease on his right.

He reconnected his brain cells in a nanosecond.

‘Hey, why not? But only if I get unlimited juice boxes there.’

They all laughed again at that, surprised at his flash of self-deprecating wit, except Mr. Stark, Peter suddenly noticed, who was staring at him before he averted his eyes.

‘Mr. Parker is not part of the team yet, Ms. Romanoff, but that would make for an interesting session, I give you that’, he replied.

‘Far more interesting than what usually goes on there, for sure’, Rhodey sighed.

‘I am willing to give Mr. Parker courses in international relations and geopolitics’, Vision chimed in, also obviously joking.

‘Now _that _would be child abuse’, Mr. Stark quipped.

‘From your point of view, maybe', Peter boldly replied chewing on a piece of bread and looking down at his plate. He swallowed, feeling his audience waiting for the rest, feeling Mr. Stark's eyes on him, and pointed his fork at a half cherry tomato, smirking. 'I have a soft spot for long and complex lessons, I think I’d actually love that.' He looked at Vision. 'Any time, sir’, and Vision smiled back, amused.

‘You’re a weird fifteen year-old, you know that?’, Rhodey said, frowning at him, then laughing again, shaking his head.

They went on teasing him and joking around, changing the subject to the kind of training they did here, happily eating their _salade niçoise _together. At every perfect opportunity Peter cracked a joke and they laughed, pleasantly surprised to see how funny and confident he actually was. He tried not to notice how Mr. Stark barely looked at him, and even barely talked, which was so unlike him. When he wasn't looking at his mentor, he felt his eyes on him. Was it just his imagination, though? When some _crème brûlée_ was offered to them, he decided to do a little experiment to confirm or deny the hypothesis that this was indeed real and so, while everybody was silently eating the delicious French dessert, he suddenly looked up from his ramekin and, sure enough, Mr. Stark was staring at him and looked away when he saw Peter had noticed. Something weird happened during the fraction of a second their eyes met; something Peter did not understand.

Was that fear? But why would Mr. Stark be scared of him? Did he know? _Nah, _that_ is just in your head, Peter._

After that tiny moment, Mr. Stark stopped looking at Peter altogether. 

And then lunch was over, and people started to stand up and leave. _‘He’ll give you a tour of his lab-slash-workshop after lunch’._ When Rhodey had told him that, Peter couldn’t wait for Mr. Stark and him to be alone together. Now he felt really, really nervous. First Rhodey left, then Wanda and Vision, and finally Natasha. She stood up and seemed to want to say something to Mr. Stark, but her words died in her throat and she looked down, then at Mr. Stark again, and then she noticed Peter watching her stare at Mr. Stark, smiled and winked at Peter before awkwardly leaving.

Okay something was definitely up. First Happy, then Mr. Stark’s silence and weird looks, then that thing with Natasha. They knew. _Oh my god, they know about my inappropriate crush_. _God._

_Okay, okay, it’s all right, you’re just a teenager and it’s awkward as hell but they’re adults, they understand, it’s no big deal, just super cringy and weird and awkward. And humiliating. Yeah. Breathe. _

It was just the two of them now. A Hitchcockian silence stretched on while the older man was slowly finishing his cup of coffee, as if Peter wasn’t there at all. He was so unlike the Tony Stark he’d met a few times, or even the one that had stepped in here an hour ago, but after all, he didn’t really know the man at all. This was the real Mr. Stark; the everyday mundane one with sweat pants on. Sometimes he was just quiet. And weird.

Because he _knew_.

_Come on, there’s still a chance this is all in your head. Relax and act normal._

But the walk to the lab was just as quiet and he was sure that silence was laden with something, something unsaid, maybe he was going to be tested again, and it seemed like forever and he kept glancing at Mr. Stark’s nape, at the patterns his short hair there made, with not a single gray hair – of course they were dyed – and he wondered how he’d look with gray hair and Mr. Stark said something and he didn’t hear him and they stepped inside an elevator and oh God, no, please no, he was getting hard and this was a _mistake_.

_A terrible, terrible mistake. _

He kept his hands in front of his crotch in what he hoped was a casual pose, and as soon as Mr. Stark stepped out, he quickly readjusted his erection between the waistband of his boxers and his stomach so it wouldn’t show at all. His face was red, he knew it.

_God, please, please let Mr. Stark not notice. Please._

‘Tadaaaa!’ Mr. Stark boomed, making him jump. ‘Please, try not to drool on anything.’ His mentor’s eyes flicked over to him with a glint and a crooked smile, before he turned towards the workshop again.

‘Still no coffee?’ he called out, going over to where a coffee machine probably was. Hadn’t he just finished a cup?

‘Uh, no thanks.’ A pause. ‘Uuh, actually– actually, I– well, I- yeah, I’d like some– some coffee, please.’

His voice cracked on the word coffee._ Holy cow, get your shit together!_

The first thing he noticed was the space. The architecture of it all. It wasn’t as huge as he’d thought it’d be, but the ceiling was high up, and there was an uninterrupted line of windows all around it, stopping way above their heads as the room was mainly underground, like a crown of light above them. At first glance, the vast room was rectangular, but it actually had soft curves, as well as sharper and softer angles, as if it were the portion of a bigger arc, which it probably was. There were machines and prototypes everywhere, and a car currently taken apart next to what looked like a cozy area in a corner with a couch and a table and computers and the coffee machine where Mr. Stark was right now, his back to him. Peter tried to breathe normally, and took everything in with awe, his eyes doing a 360, momentarily forgetting about the shame, before his heightened senses spiked up all of a sudden. He was where Mr. Stark was most of the time – he was in his _lair_. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by the smell of his cologne, by the smells of coffee, burnt metal, leather, and even a sweet woman’s perfume that probably came from the discarded bright red sweater on that chair over there.

He felt nauseous just like after that nightmare.

He needed a distraction. He spotted a perfect one a few steps away on his left and made it his target, reaching it with trembling legs. It was a prototype of brand new Stark glasses. He gripped the workshop table where they rested, closed his eyes and took deep breaths. When he opened them again, he had calmed down a little, and he looked at the genius piece of tech before him.

He then heard Mr. Stark inhale just like when a person is about to speak, so he interjected: ‘Are these the newest ones?’

He had tried to sound excited, which he actually was, but his voice came out small and shaky. When Mr. Stark didn’t respond for a long moment, he took it in himself to finally peek over his shoulder at him.

He was just smiling, looking ahead in the distance, not at him, empty cup of coffee in hand, but Peter could have sworn the man had just swiftly changed his posture. His eyes turned towards the glasses again, and he bent over to have a closer look.

‘Can I try them on?’

Still silence. Peter didn’t turn around this time because he noticed holographic notes suddenly appearing next to the glasses, and began to read them, entranced, before Mr. Stark cleared his throat.

‘Sure, help yourself, kid.’

He had to look at him to make sure that wasn’t sarcasm. The man was back to facing the coffee machine.

‘R–really?’

‘Yeah, go ahead, kid.’

He did, eyes a little wet, and gave himself a minute to calm down again.

‘Oh, but I wouldn’t tap the rim if I were you; might end up accidentally commanding a drone strike and that’d be a real PR nightmare.’

Peter let out a quick silent laugh, giddy with emotion. He’d dreamed of simply holding some of these and studying how they worked, taking them apart, but in Stark stores, the available models would always be behind glass. No touching. The cheapest one cost $1,899.

Silence. This was so weird and nerve-racking and his heart was pounding and why couldn’t Mr. Stark even look at him? What had happened to the friendly chatter and the fond smiles and the casual arm around his shoulder, pressing him close?

_He knew._

He couldn’t help but tap the rim once and a dashboard appeared, seamlessly adjusting to his sight instantly, as if it weren't mere millimeters from his retinas. A female voice rang out, making him start.

_‘_Stand by for retinal and biometric scan. Retinal and biometric scan rejected. Unidentified user. Access denied.’

Footsteps, breathing. Mr. Stark was walking towards him. Before he could apologize, he was handing him a cup of coffee.

‘And here– is the Bugatti of cappuccinos. Enjoy.’

He walked right past him without a single look.

‘Put those back and come over here, champ. There’s the real attraction.’

Peter put the glasses back with a shaky hand then walked over to where Mr. Stark was, trying not to spill any hot coffee.

They were in front of a table that could have passed for an ordinary one, with some paper and a pen even laying on it next to Mr. Stark’s cup of coffee, except it had holographic commands like every tech the genius had lately designed, it seemed, as well as two lean robotic arms which were attached to it, unfolding elegantly from under it when their creator flicked an invisible switch in mid-air.

And then Mr. Stark was talking fast. Real fast. Peter tried to catch every word like a man dying of thirst trying to catch every drop from a waterfall. He was explaining the holographic design, and then went on to talk about how this new printer worked and then changed the subject to theoretical physics. Peter was basking in his aura, feeling warm all over.

‘Ever heard of the metaeder shifting theory?’

‘The–’

‘That’s right. Well, it’s no longer theoretical’, his idol went on, moving his hands around the soft, blue light of the controls. Something appeared above the table, floating but solid this time, not a hologram, and Peter’s eyes grew even wider. The thing turned into metal and the piece of metal turned into a hand, a solid, metal glove, matter forming itself out of nowhere, just like magic from an invisible wand.

‘…currently working on perfecting it; making it faster, more seamless, more intuitive. There's an issue with strong winds and that's precisely what I'm working on right now. I want it to resist atmospheric entry. Might take a few more months to perfect it but then, you’ll be good for some space tourism; hypothetically, of course. What do you say, kid?’

Peter was speechless. He swallowed what he hoped was not his own tongue.

‘Y-you mean, I– I’ll get to– this– this is for _me_?'

'Well, I'm designing a suit like that for myself, Rhodey and er, Rescue, but yes, this one's from your suit.'

'But how- wait, does this _create matter_? But– but that’s impossible, that’s crazy! Is it nanosamples that it– that it develops? Multiplies?’ he stepped closer as he spoke, as close as he could to the iron glove, his face turning blue from the holo light. This was _revolutionary_ tech. He had to understand it.

‘You’re right, that’s impossible. It doesn’t _create_ matter, it's not _magic_, it simply modifies _existing_ matter and shifts it to a different scale.’ He felt Mr. Stark move closer to him as he was explaining his brilliant invention, and his right side was instantly on fire, arousal coming back at full speed.

It was always on his right side, he absent-mindedly noticed.

‘See the Pascal/ρ chart over there? Watch.’ He slightly leaned towards Peter to reach for another invisible command. Peter watched as the density numbers spiked up when the hand disappeared, before dropping again as it reappeared, but it didn’t make any sense. Mr. Stark hadn't moved and his warm breath was on his cheek; he was breathing slowly and Peter thought he could hear his heart beating. He wanted this moment to last forever. He almost closed his eyes with pleasure but then everything clicked and his stimulated brain mercifully took over.

‘Nanoarchitecture? You figured out nanoarchitecture? This... is 99% air?’ he exclaimed in disbelief before abruptly turning towards Mr. Stark and finding himself inches away from his mentor– inches from his dark, intimidating eyes, from his parted mouth, from his warm breath. He thought he saw him flinch a little but he didn’t look away. He didn’t look away and stared right back into his eyes with a look Peter had never seen. It lasted a mere three seconds but it felt… _real_.

‘You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?’ When Peter didn't respond, Mr. Stark went on, completely ignoring the strange tension between them. ‘Are you gonna drink that coffee because if you don’t, I’m gonna be offended.'

Peter ignored him.

‘But, but I thought it was impossible given- given the state of... Oh, the electron beam! Right? The one you just talked about? It allows... wait, I don’t understand… How do you make the lattices _move_? Electromagnetic propulsion? But on the nanoscale?’ Peter exclaimed, awe and excitement making him almost shout. The look. It was back on Mr. Stark’s face. _Look away, Peter_. ‘Oh no, no, no, that can’t be right’, he let out a nervous breathy laugh. ‘Sorry, I– I mean, Mr. Stark, this is… this is...’

‘Electromagnetic propulsion it is. Moves the lattices apart and puts them back together. Figured it out months ago. Big, small. Child’s play. Elegant, don’t you think?’

‘Huh’, Peter gasped in approval, completely in awe. There was another stretch of silence and he finally lifted the cup of coffee to his lips, the strong, bitter taste invading his mouth. He tried his best not to grimace, but then the flavor turned sweet and fruity, lingering pleasantly. The older man slowly finished his own, facing the metal glove still shimmering in front of them, and Peter turned pensive. An unsettling thought occurred to him, then others grew from it like branches on a tree and suddenly, he couldn’t think of anything else.

‘So... just to be sure…‘ Peter looked down, frowning and putting his cup onto the table before lifting his hands as if he was trying to grasp a difficult concept, ‘you’ve figured out fully operative nanoarchitecture and nanoprinting months ago–’

‘That’s right.’

‘...and you’re keeping this from the world because…?’

He had not meant to be rude at all. He was not mad himself about that, he was just bewildered. It was insane to him not to immediately share that discovery with the world, considering what it could do to billions of people, to the planet itself. Nevertheless, Mr. Stark froze and Peter instantly felt him tense up as he watched him put his own cup of coffee back onto the table next to his.

‘Because the world’s not ready? Because that would create humongous issues? Oh, and because that’s _my_ tech and I don’t want to?’

Peter frowned again at that. ‘But, Mr. Stark, you can’t just keep that to yourself! You could– I mean, the things you could do with it! You could literally stop global warming, I– I mean, build crazy light planes and drastically reduce fuel consumption and–’

‘And create a financial meltdown.’

‘But–’

‘Don’t pretend you thought this through as much as I did.’

‘I don’t, sir, I didn't, but... I can't help thinking about the fact that that would solve so m–'

‘You think I didn’t think of that?’, the older man suddenly spat, voice loud and patience now clearly gone. Peter flinched, taken aback. ‘You think I don’t want to?’, he added almost in a whisper this time, almost intimate, his dark eyes suddenly mere inches from Peter's again, invading his personal space, closer than ever, a finger pointing angrily at him, fleetingly touching his chest_._ Peter’s heart was in his throat. He had the insane urge to kiss Mr. Stark right then and there. ‘You think I don’t give a _shit _about the world, _that_’s what you think?’

‘I– No... no, that's not- I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I–'

His idol looked away before swiftly facing him again. ‘If I made the announcement tonight, there’d be a third world war by next week’, he added, voice menacingly dropping in a final argument. ‘Do you _get_ that, smarty-pants?'

He turned away for good this time and there was dead silence. Peter shuddered.

‘Now drink that coffee before it gets cold.’

Peter didn't move. It took him a few seconds to regain his voice.

‘I’m really sorry, sir, I– I didn’t mean to offend you, I– I just–’

‘Well, you did, now get over it.’

Another stretch of icy silence went by.

‘How did you know about nanoarchitecture?’, Mr. Stark suddenly asked, still facing away.

‘I... read about it. There’s a– a professor at Caltech, who– ’

‘Julia Greer. Yeah, whatever. I think I’m gonna need some alone time now, kid. So… you can leave now.’

His stomach dropped. He couldn't even reply politely, no words would come out. He had to walk past him to reach the elevator, tears threatening to fall when he finally reached it. When the doors closed, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, groaned, then rubbed the tears away, but the urge to actually cry was overwhelming. To make things worse, he had to pee. When he was back on the ground floor, it was completely empty, thank God. Striding towards the nearest bathroom, he failed to keep the tears from falling, looked around in shame but didn’t spot any cameras. He knew there were some.

That night, he couldn’t sleep at all.

Unbeknownst to him, neither could Tony Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! If you're curious about science, know that the science fiction in this chapter is actually based on real one. I encourage you to google 'nanoarchitecture', for instance.


	12. Conversations

** Sorry kid, lack of sleep has turned me into a cranky old man. Your question was legit, just not the appropriate time. Hope you enjoyed the tour anyway. -TS **

* * *

‘What happened between you and the kid?’

He knew it would come. Happy kept his eyes on the road as he finally asked the question that had been plaguing him for four long days. Tony had only been able to avoid being alone with him for that long without attracting Pepper’s attention, and the wordless tension between the two men had risen and risen and risen, until he’d felt like Edgar Allan Poe’s insane narrator in  _ The Tell-Tale Heart,_ about to lose control and blurt his darkest secret out.

Happy’s question was abrupt, accusatory, but he was almost relieved to finally hear it. He’d had time to prepare. He was going to coax his way out of this. He’d be alright.

‘Was that why you kept staring at me like Judge Judy?’

‘Was that why you avoided me for four days?’

‘That’s-‘, he started another joke, but Happy cut him off.

‘He asked to be taken home right away, said he didn’t feel good. He looked like he’d been crying. What happened, Tony?’

The ache in his chest returned. He’d seen the footage. He was so pretty when he cried. _Shit_. Thankfully, he’d rehearsed all this. He let out a fake defeated sigh.

‘He pissed me off with a surprisingly insightful question about my work so I kicked him out. End of story.’ 

And that was the actual, factual truth - nothing better to hide the underlying cause of it all. Just like capitalism, he thought, internally scoffing. He was not freaking out. He had this. Thank God for his life-long experience with PR.

‘You kicked him out?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Because of a question?’

‘Yeah, he hurt my ego, I lost my cool, had too much coffee, was tired... Is that all, Miss Marple?’

‘What did he ask?’

‘Something about me not sharing my tech with the world. Are you done?’ 

Happy’s eyes were now looking at him worriedly through the rearview mirror. 

‘What?’ 

Happy looked away.

‘Natasha told me that you acted weird that day during lunch.’

_ Shit. Of course. Of fucking course.  _ He had successfully justified his strange behaviour to the super spy with a little speech about how the kid was now putting his life at risk every day because of him and about how he’d grown fond of him in a fatherly way that made him uncomfortable since he’d always thought he didn’t want kids and now maybe he had doubts about that and yaddi yaddi yadda, and she had seemed to completely buy it but now... a wave of fear made his throat tight. Had she spoken to Happy before or after? Why had she gone to him in the first place? They hardly ever spoke!

He attempted to mask his distress with a huff of laughter but it didn’t work.

‘She said you could hardly look at him’, Happy added.

‘What did you tell her?’, he snapped.

The hair-raising tension was back, heftier than ever. Happy didn’t answer for far too long, and during those excruciating seconds, the billionaire actually doubted his best friend’s loyalty for the first time.

‘Nothing’, Happy finally said.

Tony managed to get some air back into his lungs.

‘I told her you felt guilty about him, about dragging him into all this.’

‘I do.’

‘I know.’

He didn’t deserve such a friend.

Time went by. Tony braced himself for another dangerous question but Happy seemed to have dropped the subject. _Too easy..._, Tony thought. They were on Interstate 78 heading to Manhattan and it was jammed with cars. He watched as a Subaru full of college kids drove up next to them, young and dumb faces shouting things at their tinted windows. He looked down at his phone as if he had just seen a few cows peacefully grazing, but their image stuck anyway. Peter was younger than them... The car drove past them and Happy turned to the outside lane.

Tony watched the horizon. It was a foggy summer morning, unusually chilly for that time of the year. 

‘Are you in love with him?’

Hitting water with no warning - no time to take a final breath; that was how it felt to hear that. No time, no quip, nothing. He couldn’t speak. Happy’s eyes were on him again, boring into him. There was nowhere to hide and he _saw_. He saw what he’d been looking for.

All of a sudden, a car honked and Happy hit the brakes, making his stunned passenger jerk forward, the seatbelt punching his heart. Appropriate. Perfect timing. Oh yes, how perfect would it be if they died right now! Happy stopped inches away from the yellow cab in front of them, and Tony’s body bounced back into the back seat. They didn’t die. Tony freaked himself out when he felt actual disappointment. There had been an accident a few cars ahead. Nothing too serious. Those dumbass kids, probably. All they had to do now was wait. Happy’s question echoed in his head. It was such a pretty question. It sounded beautiful even. Beautiful and deadly. Like the love he felt.

‘Are you just gonna ignore what I just said?’ Happy went on, not without a hint of fear.  


‘Have you been watching  _ Days Of Our Lives _ ?’ Tony replied out of reflex, not recognising his own voice.

His friend ignored the defensive joke. ‘It would explain everything if you were.’

‘That’s offensive. I only watch HBO anyway.’

‘If you were in lo-‘

‘Oh, would it now? Well, I guess that’s it, then. I’m in love’, he said in an exaggerated way.

‘That’s not funny.’

‘Sounds pretty funny to me. Hilarious even.  _Grotesque_.’

‘Tony.’

‘But I’m glad we’re clear now, cause now I know what you’re capable of thinking.’

‘Tony –‘

‘Makes me wonder. Where do you get such thoughts? Cause that’s pretty fucked up to assume in the first place. Has it occurred to you that _you_ could be the one with serious –’

Happy turned around, actually turned around, his face too close now, and Tony shut up. His friend looked sad and tired.

‘Look, I know you’ll never admit it and I’m fine with that. I don’t want a confession from you. What I want is to know that you’re okay, to know that _he_’s okay, and it’s clear to me that that’s not the case for either of you.’  To his horror, Tony felt on the verge of tears under his friend’s gaze. ‘It’s my job to protect you, Tony. I’m not… accusing you.’ Tony tried to say something to that but Happy went on, not letting him. ‘I’m not trying to _frame_ you. You’re my best friend. I worry about you and _I want to understand_.’

‘This is reaching Malta-98-levels of ridiculous’, he mumbled, referring to some old press conference nightmare.

‘He reminds you of yourself, doesn’t he?’, Happy ignored him again. ‘Like nobody ever did before? That’s why?’

‘Face the wheel.’

‘Tony…’

‘I said face the wheel.’

‘I’m not trying to attack you.’

‘Well, I feel attacked!’

‘Please, Tony, talk about it to Dr. –‘

‘Fuck you!’

Happy flinched and finally turned away in his seat, looking out the window on his left. Tony couldn’t breathe properly. He put his right hand over his face, his elbow on the door panel, and closed his eyes, trying to defuse the panic attack threatening to overpower him. His fingers were trembling. He heard a woman shouting something from outside and focused on her voice. He heard the words ‘injured’ and ‘okay’ and ‘911’. A wave of anxiety rolled over him and he couldn’t stop a gasp – no, it was _not_ a sob – from escaping him. There was no way Happy hadn’t noticed but he didn’t react.

They were stuck on the Interstate for more than an hour, Happy mercifully putting some music soon after their exchange, quiet and still as a statue. Tony slowly calmed down. He felt exhausted and old, very old, older than he’d ever felt. _Defeated_.When they arrived at their destination, Goldman Sachs, he didn’t move, not finding the will nor the strength. Happy spoke again, his voice gentle, but it stung anyway.

‘If you touch him, I won’t be able to protect you.’

He was past trying to deny anything now, and felt something dangerously close to despair.

‘You think I’m capable of rape?’

_ Maybe you are. _

'No.’

'You think I’m a pedophile then.’

'He’s almost 16 not 8. He’ll be legal in a little more than a year.’

'Oh so you’re encouraging me now?’

'That’s not funny.’

Tony smiled and what Happy saw in that smile in the rearview mirror made him turn towards him once more.

Tony reluctantly returned his gaze. He saw pity there and hated it. Happy looked down, searching for the right words, looking as distraught as he felt himself, and worried - worried sick.

‘I’m not gonna shoot myself if that’s what you’re worried about.’

Happy looked up.

´So... it’s that bad.’

When Tony looked away and didn’t answer, Happy turned to face the wheel again, sighing heavily. It was dead quiet in the underground parking lot.

They waited in silence, for what they didn’t know. Maybe for everything to sink in. Tony was already very late to his meeting anyway. Happy didn’t break the silence, sensing a rare opportunity to be Tony’s confidant again. And he was right to wait.

'I don’t know... who I am anymore. I feel _sick_, sick to my stomach, you know. This isn’t... I’m not... I can’t stand thinking about him. But I do. Constantly. I thought...’, he stopped, letting out a shaky sigh. ‘I thought if I spent some time with him, I would just... see him as he is, just a kid. But he’s not. He’s not just a kid. He’s brilliant.I can’t get over how brilliant he is... and _good,_ better -' he stopped again; it hurt to say it. ‘better than I could ever be. Maybe it’s just a good old case of mid-life crisis and that’s all it is. Maybe seeing myself in a kid like that... made me... confuse things.Maybe I do want to become a dad and should just stop telling myself I don’t. And because I’m fucked up to begin with this is how it manifests itself. Maybe I’m just fucked up and there’s nothing else there but that. Maybe there’s nothing to do...’

He stopped talking but still didn’t move to get out of the car. Happy pondered what to say after that.

‘Have you...’, he trailed off.

‘What?’

‘Have you... and... and him...’

‘Oh yeah, I fucked him raw after coffee’, he deadpanned.

‘God, Tony!’

‘Of course not! Jesus!’

‘Then what happened?’

‘Exactly what I told you! Nothing more. But I freaked out... I freaked out because I realized...' He paused. 'No, I don’t know, he did piss me off because he was right and I was... I was...’ God, it was hard to get out. ‘too... _attracted_ by that point. He had to leave, you know? So yeah, nothing happened.’

‘He had to leave or what?’

‘I’m not a rapist.’

‘No, you’re not’, Happy replied in a strange tone.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You know.’

‘No, I don’t, enlighten me.’

He expected his friend to bring up one of his infamous sexcapades and was ready to explain for the millionth time that no, he definitely did not force that sexy red head into hardcore bondage.

‘He adores you, Tony.’  For the second time that day, Anthony Edward Stark was left speechless and that was a phenomenon in itself.  ‘Shit, you’re really in deep to be that clueless, you of all people.'  


‘He’s a fan, sure, but very straight and very not into 47 year-old creeps so I don’t see how I’m being clueless here.’

‘Have you been spying on his sex life?’

‘What?’

‘Tony...’

‘Why the fuck would you think that?’

‘You said he was very straight, how do you know that?’

‘I- I know he asked the flying vulture guy’s daughter out to-‘

‘And that makes him straight?’

‘Why are you saying this?’

‘I- to warn you.’

‘Warn me...’

‘Yes. He might...’

‘Jesus Christ, why are you telling me this?' Tony exclaimed.  


‘You won’t try anything with him.’

‘I- what? No! No, I won’t. Like I said, I’m not-‘

‘But what if he’s the one making a move?’

‘Jesus, you’re completely-'

‘Will you be able to control yourself?’

‘Stop interrupting me.’

‘Promise me.’

‘What?’

‘On Pepper’s life.’

Tony actually burst out laughing at that.

‘I’m very serious.’

‘You sure you haven’t been watching ABC lately?’

‘Swear it. Tony, this is freaking me out. The repercussions...’

‘I’m not gonna be that stupid.’

‘Are you?’

‘Pinkie swear.’

‘Tony...’

‘I swear, okay! I swear. You think I want to ruin his life? That I don’t wanna protect him as much as you do? This is - something I’m working on. I’ll get over it.’

‘I thought you were for a while, you know. Over it.’

‘I tried. I’m trying. And... and if it doesn’t go away... then so be it.’

* * *

‘So are you gonna tell me or not?’

‘What?’

‘You know what.’

‘No. I don’t.’

‘Yeah, you do.’

‘Ned, it’s 2am, can’t we just sleep?’

‘Peter, you promised! And I’m... I worry... about you, you know... a lot, actually.’

‘Shouldn’t you worry about me being Spider-Man?’

‘Oh so it’s not about that.’

‘I told you it wasn’t! For you not to worry, actually.’

‘Well, it didn’t work. It made me worry even more.’

‘That makes no sense.’

‘Well, you’re pretty much invincible, so.’

...

‘I really need some sleep, Ned.’

‘Yeah no shit.’

‘I - it’s... it’s really personal.’

‘More personal than me telling you what I did with my cousin?’

‘God, Ned! Don’t remind me!’

‘Sorry.’

‘And please, keep your voice down!’

‘Sorry, sorry.’

...

‘Peter, come on!’

‘I don’t wanna talk about it.’

‘I thought this was the entire purpose of emergency sleepovers.’

‘Well now I don’t want to anymore.’

Five minutes later.

‘You sleeping?’

No answer.

‘Well, I don’t know if you can hear me right now, but I want you to know that it wouldn’t alter our friendship in any way if you were gay.’

Silence. 

‘You know, this reminds me of what happened to Laura Perkins from eighth...‘

‘I’m not gay.’

‘...grade. What?’

‘I said I’m not gay.’

‘Oh, cool.’

Silence.

‘Are you sure, though? Cause the way you react when I mention Iron Man and the weird thing you’ve been doing for a few weeks now whenever I try to make you talk about him...'  


‘What? I don’t - what weird thing?’

‘You’re a very bad liar, you know that?’

‘Ned, he’s like... 50.’

‘Yeah, that _is_ worrisome.’

‘Stop saying I have a crush on him.’

‘Peter, you have a crush on him.’

‘No, I don’t, that’s gross!’

‘Why were you crying?’

Silence.

‘Did he touch you?’

‘What? No! What the fuck, Ned!’

‘I’m sorry but... the way your aunt told me the whole -‘

‘I offended him.’

Silence.

‘Offended him like...’

‘I insulted him... kind of... I really don’t wanna talk about it.’

‘Did he, like, fire you or something?’

‘He’s technically not my boss so no.’

‘Did he hurt you?’

‘What? No! He’s - he would never hurt me!’

‘Then why did you cry so much?’

‘What?’

‘In the middle of the night...’

‘What did May tell you exactly?’

‘If all you did was piss him off and that was enough for you to completely break down then you’re in love with him.’

‘Jesus, Ned!’

‘I mean! That or you don’t wanna admit he hurt you!’

‘He - you - that’s - that’s crazy! He would never ever hurt me. He -‘

‘And why would you say it's really personal if it's just that? Oh my god! He found out, didn’t he? And that’s why you broke down! Oh my god!’

’No! No! What? No! No, he didn’t - I - I’m not -‘

‘Oh so you do have a crush on him.’

‘You’re really starting to piss me off now.’

‘I don’t understand why you don’t wanna admit it! Aren’t best friends supposed to tell each other everything?’

‘Because it’s -'

Silence.

‘You know, I don’t blame you, he’s super hot, I mean, he’s Iron Man, and you get to see him and spend time with him and stuff. What I’m trying to say is... you don’t have to feel ashamed of anything.’

‘Yeah, cause being 15 and in love with your 50 year-old mentor is perfectly normal and fine.’

Silence.

‘You’re in love with him? Shit.’

‘Yeah. Shit.’

Silence. 

‘I think it’s actually normal. I’m serious, Peter. We’re teenagers and you’re supposed to discover your own sexuality when you’re at that age and he’s Tony Stark! And, you know... I mean, like, what would be super creepy would be him wanting you back but that’s not gonna happen.’

‘Thanks, Ned.’

‘Look, you’ll get over it and it sucks and being gay is not easy but you’ll be okay eventually.’

‘I’m not gay.’

‘Have you seen that YouTube channel called er - wait -´

‘I think I like MJ.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah.’

Silence.

‘So... you’re bi?’

‘I guess, yeah.’

‘Or pansexual.’

‘What?’

‘Pansexual! You never heard of it? Seriously? Wait, you really have to check this channel out, let me get my phone...’

They ended up talking until 5am, Peter feeling utterly exhausted but better, lighter, like the huge weight of shame he'd felt since that day had been lifted by the other boy's unrelenting chatter and funny and genuinely informative videos about sexual identity and acceptance. Ned could be pretty annoying sometimes, but he truly was a good friend. 


	13. Distance

He was in front of the door to his hotel room back in Berlin, fumbling for his keycard. He couldn’t find it, yet he was sure he’d put it in his shirt pocket. Maybe he’d dropped it somewhere? Happy would be mad... He tried to open the door anyway, and even though he hardly put any pressure on the knob, it broke and ended up in his hand.

Oui ‘Shit!’ 

It had happened a few times now, him not realizing how much strength he had and breaking random things — a seatbelt in May’s second-hand Ford, two blind cords, and a grand total of four faucets in his school bathrooms, which had led to a hilarious manhunt for the Midtown ‘faucet wrecker’. 

_Well, might as well push the door open now._

He did and was back in his hotel room, except it was bigger now, much bigger, and it had a big desk, and sitting at the big desk, like a High School Principal, was _Mr. Stark_.

‘I told you to keep your distance!’

Peter couldn’t speak, shocked at the sudden attack.

‘But you just wouldn’t listen to me, would you?’ Mr. Stark went on, visibly pissed.

There must have been a misunderstanding. There had to be a logical explanation to this.

‘Mr. Stark? What are you— what are you doing here? I— I don’t understand, sir, I—´

‘Come here.’

‘What?’ He sounded like a child.

‘I said _come here!_’

He was stunned but managed to obey the older man, walking over to him as if drawn to a magnet, his heart beating faster.

‘You see this?’ Mr. Stark pointed at something on the desk. A blueprint. ‘This is public property now and _that’s on you_.’

‘Wh— what?’ Peter stammered, bewildered.

‘You think you’re so smart, huh?’ Mr. Stark snapped, suddenly standing up. 'So brave and so smart...'

‘I— I really don’t understand Mr. Stark...’ Peter watched him move around the desk and point angrily at him, and he staggered backwards.

‘_You_ said that I had to share my tech with the world. _You_ said that I was selfish not to’, he went on, slowly stepping towards him.

‘No, no, I—I never said you were s—´

‘And now it’s _out!_’ he said, arms spreading then dropping, before he added in a deeper voice. ‘Let’s see how _that_ goes.’

‘But—but I didn’t—I don’t understand, I didn’t—'

Mr. Stark was close now, so close, his body back in one of his expensive suits, his elegant beard perfectly trimmed, his eyes a dangerous shade of brown, moving slowly and steadily towards him as he continued to step back.

‘Sir?’

Mr. Stark didn’t stop and soon Peter was pinned against a wall by those dark and piercing eyes and... he could _feel_ him. He could feel the _heat_ coming off him, his breath against his own mouth.

‘Sir…’

‘You want it, don’t you?’ Mr. Stark said in a low, sultry voice.

‘W— what?’

‘You _bad boy_…’

The older man grabbed his head and their lips collided.

Peter woke up at the impact, feverish, breathless and high with pleasure, his release spilling on his bed. He turned and kicked his thick duvet off, catching his breath, his wide eyes staring at his bedroom ceiling. A street lamp was casting a dull gray light through the broken blinds and occasional cars projected passing stretches of white in a corner. After a few minutes of silent contemplation, he got up, wiped himself and opened his window a little, the cold night air of early March pleasantly hitting his groggy face. He glanced at his alarm clock. 5:56. No point in getting back to sleep. He looked at his phone. No text. He grabbed a book and read until 7:00.

Today would be fun: algebra test, trivia with Ned and a field trip to MoMA. 

* * *

Tony never invited him back, but a month after his salutary confession to Happy, he started sending his protégé little text messages every week or so—to congratulate him on another A, to check if he was alright after a tough patrol, to share a cool new upgrade to his Iron Spider suit... It was entirely harmless. Peter was thrilled. 

**\- Hey kid, guess who figured out how to shrink ** **O2?**

**\- Henry Pym?**

**\- Brat.**

For more than seven months, they settled into a routine of regular little quip wars that brightened Tony’s days. He remained unaware of the fact that the teenager would lose his sleep after a week of no texting from him. 

**\- Nice catch, kid. Now get some sleep. Biology test tomorrow, right?**

**\- Spanish, but you were close enough.  
**

Peter ended up actively seeking danger or crazy situations just to elicit a text from his mentor, and felt bolder and bolder through the filter of his screen.

**\- No point in trying to catch a rogue broker, kid. They multiply by binary fission. **

**\- Oh but you would know, wouldn’t you? **

**\- What did you just say?**

**\- I take that back.  
**

There was one text Peter regretted sending, although it was purely in jest. It was after a particularly risky move that almost got him shot in the head, but also got a couple of murderers arrested after a long manhunt.

**\- You do that again and I take your suit back for good.**

**\- Yes, daddy.**

Tony had not sent another text for two weeks after that. Peter almost had another breakdown as a result, before the drought was ended by Tony on a Tuesday night at 1am.

**\- Did you just get a B- in physics?**

**\- I forgot a question...**

**\- You fell asleep, didn’t you?**

**\- Maybe.**

**\- Bad boy.**

Peter jerked off to a mind-blowing orgasm immediately after that.

Tony kept the texts carefully hidden from Happy, easily encrypting his phone number whenever he texted Peter.

‘What’s making you laugh?’ a tired Pepper asked him one night, handing him a cup of herbal tea. He couldn’t lie to her to save his life.

‘Our Spider-Boy’s been pretty reckless lately... The kid’s got quite a mouth on him', he added when she raised her eyebrows at him.

‘Can I see?’

Tony handed her his phone with no hesitation. She read their little exchange and smiled.

‘He really does seem like a mini-you.’

‘A— what?’

‘A mini-you? Oh maybe you’re supposed to say _your mini-me_? Natasha told me about him a few months ago, and I think that’s how she described him, actually’, she explained, amused. Tony didn’t know what to respond to that, but his heart rate instantly spiked up.

Twenty minutes later, when they were in bed together, lights already turned off, good nights already exchanged, the question he feared the most finally came.

‘You love him, don’t you?’

He supposed dying would be like this. It would come and that would be it. Tragic, but simple.

‘I do.’

And that was all. She didn’t add anything to that. Weirdly enough, Tony wished she had. Maybe her silence was even worse. This could only mean two things: either she didn’t want to know the whole truth or she couldn’t even conceive it in the first place.

The next day, when they started having sex, he couldn’t get an erection.

‘Oh Tony, it’s okay, it really is. Hey, look at me, it’s perfectly normal, you know it is.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Come on’, and she held him tight against her chest.

He truly loved her.

Most days were comfortably dull, easy, grounding. The texts to Peter felt a little like porn — crazy urges quickly satisfied before going back to the real world. He liked waking up, putting his slippers on and making coffee while reading the news; tinkering in his lab until Pepper came in and pecked him softly on his cheek; eating her out for ages and hearing her come. He liked his routine, and began to really feel _mature_. Maybe it was time to finally _grow_.

One Sunday afternoon he facetimed Peter to congratulate him for having saved a little girl after a hit-and-run. Her mother had been hit as well but it was the girl who had been severely injured, and Spider-Man had very carefully carried her to Queens General Central Hospital in exactly 80 seconds. She had been saved thanks to him. Peter was a bit shaken afterwards.

The contrast between that short phone call and the witty teasing tone of their regular texts was striking.

‘Hey kid.’

‘H—Hey, Mr. Stark.’

‘Heard what you did and _gosh_, you really outdid yourself today. You okay?’

‘I— Yes, thank you, Mr. Stark.’

Tony forced himself to look at that face on his phone.

‘You sure? You look... pale.’

‘I— I’m a bit shaken, I guess. But I’m good.’

‘You’re a tough guy. Keep up the good work.’

‘I will. Thank you, sir.’

‘No, thank _you_.’

Peter gave him a shy smile and their eyes met.

‘Bye, Peter.’

‘Goodbye, Mr. Stark.’

‘End call.’

It was their last recorded conversation before they came.


	14. Problem Solved

He supposed it was probably better to have time.

The others hadn’t gotten any, or two or three seconds maybe, and though he figured most people would probably prefer to go that way —unconsciously, or too abruptly for it to sink in—  he really didn’t. He was strangely grateful for the time he had, however terrifying. 

What better way to die than to be drowned in the literal void of space, staring into nothing and everything at once, having time to reflect and dream and wallow? Existential terror had its perks; it was terribly beautiful.

There was a third way to go. With time, but not enough for reflection and too much for it to be easy. With time for awareness, but not for acceptance. Time to trigger the terror but too little to make it poetic. It was the worst way to go.

That was how Peter had died.

_ ‘Mr. Stark? I don't feel so good.’ _

_ ‘You're alright.’ _

_ ‘I don't— I don't know what's happening.’ _

Everything had happened in two days. Just as he’d predicted, the aliens had finally come and that’d been it. It had been the endgame. _They_ had won  — _he_ had won — and it had been over. They'd _lost_.  


After weeks of hopelessly trying to tinker the old spaceship he was stuck in with a friendly albeit slightly sadistic Smurfette, he peeked at the oxygen level for the last time and finally gave up. It wasn’t that bad and even strangely easy... to accept his own death.

He sent a goodbye message to Pepper, hoping she was still alive, and contemplated the possibility of fully confiding in her, but that would’ve been unnecessarily selfish.  _Hey babe, I’m dying and I just wanna let you know I’m in love with a dead teenager. Love you, bye!_ And so he opted to keep his damaging secret to his interstellar grave, and told her what she needed to hear, but he didn’t need to lie. He loved her and he loved him. He would never see either of them again. The view was breathtaking but dizzying and so he lay down facing away, to die in peace. He vaguely felt Nebula picking him up after a few hours of him not moving anymore, and she gently put him down in a soft pilot seat.

He waited for death dreaming about Peter and Pepper, Pepper and Peter, their names and faces strangely mingling in his oxygen-deprived brain. He’d had a fucking good life. He’d been so lucky.

When he was saved and brought back to earth, he was torn between unimaginable relief and the feeling of having been bereft of a perfect death. He had accepted it, never to come back, never to see Pepper again. He had been waiting — waiting to vanish into nothingness just like Peter had. And now he was back on wobbly feet, severely dehydrated and weighing less than 100 pounds. 

He collapsed after hatefully shouting at Cap who hadn’t answered, who hadn’t come back, who hadn’t helped, unaware that he actually had, that they _all_ had tried; but all had failed, like him. He woke up a day later hooked up to a machine and without any memory of it all, Pepper sleeping on a folding bed next to him.

‘Pep?’ he breathed.

‘Tony!’ she instantly woke up, dashing by his side. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘What happened?’ he asked in a weak voice.

‘You don’t remember?’

‘No.’

He had never really wept in his adult life, except when his mom died. He hadn’t for his father. He had mourned him, sure, but the sobbing had been for his mom. After that there had been a few tears of anger, stress, frustration, of self-loathing and regret, and a few because of some great movies, but they had just been that, tears  — eyes watering, maybe a few drops rolling, jaw always firmly set, but he hadn’t truly wept. 

Not even after Peter...

He was weeping now, sobbing, heaving like a child in Pepper’s arms.  She had just mentioned Strange and it had been enough. He’d remembered. He’d remembered everything. Peter's name escaped his mouth several times amidst his weak cries of anguish. He was safely back on earth, alive and in one piece.  


He would live and Peter was dead. 

_ ‘I’m sorry.’ _

What a sight that must have been, a middle-aged man like him reduced to such a pitiful state... Thankfully the others were gone, out to kill Thanos, _the fools_. And indeed, they sought him out in vain; he had destroyed the Stones. Thor killed him but Tony felt nothing. Peter was dead and there was no turning back. 

He knew what Thanos had done but hearing about the horrific consequences was another story. Within seconds, the entire planet had been screaming in unison. Half of all cars, buses and trains suddenly driverless; flying planes crashing; lovers, parents and children vanishing. Hundreds of millions injured at once and half of all hospital staff gone. Orphans, suicides, anarchy. Global chaos and trauma were now their reality, but all he could think about was Peter begging in his arms.

_ ‘I don't wanna go. I don't wanna go, sir, please. Please, I don't wanna go! I don't wanna go!’ _

The guilt he felt was suffocating.  


It was only when Pepper witnessed him completely break down while whimpering the kid's name that it dawned on her, the possibility that she had misinterpreted the nature of their relationship. There was no way Peter Parker had just been an occasional surrogate son now. He didn’t mention him afterwards  — he couldn’t  — but that moment stayed imprinted in her mind and she remembered the first thing he’d said when he’d landed, staring at Steve Rogers with forlorn eyes that she had never seen on him.

‘Couldn’t stop him. I— I—  _ I lost the kid _ .’

He hadn't asked Rogers if she was alive, he had said that first, and then she'd rushed to him. He never mentioned Stephen Strange.  


He had severe PTSD. Flashbacks, nightmares, panic attacks… all of them about Peter. All of them about that moment  —  that moment he heard his small voice say his name, slowly turned around and knew.

_ ‘Mr. Stark?’ _

_ No. Not him. Please, God. Not him. _

_‘You’re alright’_,  he’d told him.  _He had to be; the others had all vanished quickly. He couldn’t go. Not him._

He officially retired to physically and mentally heal and Pepper did the same to take care of him, quickly finding a pretty lakeside cabin in Georgia where her family used to gather in the summer or for the holidays. Happy became interim CEO of Stark Industries.

For so many nights, his terrified self unconsciously called out Peter’s name again, and sobbing in Pepper’s arms became a habit. Yet she never talked about it. That alone was confirmation for him that she knew. 

Therapy helped with the guilt. He read a lot, immersing himself into Proust and Shakespeare. He chopped wood and learned how to cook. He listened to classical music and became quite knowledgeable about it. He washed the dishes by hand and went fishing for hours. He saw Peter’s dying face everywhere.

_ 'I'm sorry.' _

For his 48th birthday, on a gorgeous May afternoon by the lake with a gentle breeze caressing his face, Pepper handed him a small wrapped present. It was a framed picture of Peter and himself goofing around with the fake Stark Internship certificate. He laughed and cried at the same time. It was the first time he was actually seeing his face since having caught a glimpse of it on a holo screen in the compound the day he’d returned.

_ Peter Parker, missing. _

Months later, one cold October night, Pepper asked him if he still wanted a child, referring to a dream he’d forgotten he’d had and to their conversation about it just before Strange had erupted into their lives, changing them forever. It now seemed like a century ago. 

He thought about it for a moment, and then he said yes, just like that, and he truly meant it with all his heart.

‘But I don’t think that’s a good idea’, he whispered sadly, smiling at her. She understood him.

‘That’s not true. You’d be a great dad.’

‘I’m too damaged.’

‘Who isn’t now?’ She took his hand and went on in a slow, gentle voice. ‘I know bringing a child to this world might be considered selfish by many, but we got lucky. We always were lucky, and we still are. I mean, aren’t we living in the perfect place to raise a child? And it would be good. Good for us. Good for you.’

He looked away and stared at the flames dancing in the fireplace. The words were difficult to say, but he managed to whisper them, their weight not unlike an incantation.

‘Yes. Yes it would.’

He looked back at her  — she was smiling and held his gaze, tears in her eyes, mirroring his own expression. Their decision was made: they were quite old already, but they were going to try. They cuddled and listened to some Mozart before going to bed.

A few days before they got the news Pepper was pregnant, they finally talked about Peter.

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s… about Peter Parker.’

It took him a few seconds to recover from hearing that name.

‘Yeah. Go ahead.’

She took her time to find the correct words, but when she did, she didn’t hesitate.

‘Who was he to you?’

He didn’t answer with words but with a look. A reluctant, apologetic, tortured look.

She looked away and let out a heavy sigh, as if she’d suspected the death of somebody for a long time and it was finally confirmed. A minute passed.

‘Did you…’ she trailed off, frowning.

‘No.’

‘And just so we’re talking about the same thing…’

‘I didn’t… we didn’t…’

‘Okay…’

‘I… I… just...’, he struggled, raising his eyebrows sadly, taking a deep breath but unable to finish.

‘You were in love with him.’

He exhaled loudly. It hurt to hear it. ‘Yeah’, he managed to breathe out.

She stared at him for a long time, mildly shocked.

‘Tony…’

‘I’m sorry’, he sighed, and felt tears coming again. She slightly shook her head, looking at the ceiling.

‘He was _a _ _ kid_.’

‘I know. I couldn’t help it. Forgive me.’

‘Of course I do. I just... I need to understand.’

‘There’s nothing to understand. It just… happened… I fought it for a while… and it never went away…’

‘How old was he? 14?’

‘16’, he corrected.

‘How—  I don’t understand.’

‘He was… he was— ’, once again he had to fight back tears and looked up before saying the truth, ‘too much like me.’ 

He looked down at his hands in his lap. ‘Happy thought that’s why I—’,  he stopped again.

‘Happy knew?’ she said in a louder voice.

‘Don’t blame him. He was... he was a great friend. He protected me... and _him_... made sure I didn't... like I said, nothing ever happened. I mean…  _obviously_.’

She stared at him, then nodded sadly. ‘I knew you loved him, but I wasn’t sure… how.’

‘I’m sorry... I never stopped loving you, you know? I know how…  _lame_ it sounds, but it’s true. It really is. I’m sorry.’

She took his hand. ‘You know you can tell me everything.’ He smiled at her. ‘I mean it, Tony. If… you need to talk about him. I’m here.’

‘You’re perfect, you know that?’

They kissed.

* * *

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Sure.’

They were in bed now, naked and spent.

‘Do you think about him when we’re…’

‘Pepper…’

‘Please. I need to know.’

The silence was her answer.

‘I try not to’, he whispered after a while.

‘But you do.’

A few seconds went by. ‘Not every time.’

‘Is that why… when you cry… is that why?’

He took a deep breath. ‘Yeah. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay.’

One morning she went down on him when he was still sleepy and Peter’s name fell from his lips. She repeated what she had told him then:

_It’s okay._

* * *

Morgan’s birth was the best day of his life  — some clichés were just the truth. He cried his eyes out holding her for the first time, and it felt like the dawn of a new life to stare at her big brown eyes already maintaining his gaze on her very first day  — quite a rare feat, their doctor said. He went through the surreal blend of wonder and exhaustion of the first weeks with unspeakable joy. Pepper breastfed her every four hours and he did almost everything else.

‘Don’t you think she’s the spitting image of Dr. Evil from _Austin Powers_ in those gray pajamas?’

He regained his sense of humor, his ability to shield himself with sarcasm, and the nightmares and flashbacks slowly scattered away, only to become rare. He set up a holo table in the house and was able to let his mind go back to science and engineering, something he hadn’t been able to bear since the snap. He felt like himself again, only quieter — _at peace_. He watched Morgan grow up far from the crazy world they were now living in, the three of them staying in their little haven in the middle of Georgia, getting rid of their TV, occasionally travelling, sometimes receiving friends. He kept in touch with the remaining Avengers only when strictly necessary.

When Morgan was 18 months old, he dug up the picture of Peter he’d put in a box because he couldn’t bear looking at it, and put it on the kitchen shelf next to other framed pictures of his mom, his dad and Pepper’s parents. Every night after washing the dishes he’d have a look at it before going to bed. After a while it made him smile instead of tear up, and then he gradually forgot to look at it every night, until he stopped altogether.

His problem was finally solved.


	15. The Persistence Of Memory

‘Oh my god, Peter! Come over here! This is _awesome_.’

Peter walked over to where Ned and an old foreign couple were standing, and had a long look at it.

‘Yeah, I don’t know... it kinda creeps me out.’

‘I think it’s like, the most famous painting here, I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere. Hang on, I’m gonna take a picture.’

‘_The Persistence of Memory_ by Salvador Dalí, 1931...’ Peter read out from the label.

‘I think it’s in our history book. This is so weird and creepy! I love it. Totally gonna put it on my Instagram.’

‘The coast of his native Catalonia serves as the backdrop for this landscape of time, in which infinity and decay are held in equipoise’, Peter read on, frowning.

‘Badass’, Ned said in a goofy voice.

‘Yeah...’

‘You don’t like it?’ his friend asked, genuinely surprised at his tone.

Peter stared at the melting clocks and at the eerie, unidentifiable figure in the middle. He shrugged.

‘How can you not like it! It’s like… like a weird dream, you know? Or maybe what you see when you smoke a lot of pot’, Ned added in a loud whisper, giggling. The old woman rolled her eyes and the couple walked away.

‘Yeah... I don’t know... it creeps me out...’, he repeated, ‘especially_ that_ thing, what the hell is that?’

‘Yeah’, Ned huffed, amused, ‘looks like a mix between a couch and like, a dead melted person. Hilarious.’

Peter shivered, face scrunched up in disgust. ‘Don’t you think it’s kind of overrated, though?’ He argued after a few seconds. ‘I mean, I know the guy’s supposed to be a genius and all, and sure, the melting clocks are a great idea, but-‘

‘Don’t feel bad, he was a fascist’, a voice suddenly interjected on his left, making him start a little. It was Michelle, or MJ as she liked to be called -the ever sarcastic girl in their class who always had her nose in a book. ‘He was a big supporter of Franco who largely got his power from Hitler and Mussolini’, she explained in her trademark nonchalance. ‘He was a racist and hit women too, so… he was basically human trash’, she finished, nodding at herself.

‘I... don’t think you’re supposed to judge Dalí’s art from his personal life choices’, Ned replied.

‘Well I do’, she said with a little lopsided smile. ‘I feel like it should be mentioned somewhere and it’s kind of bugging me that it’s not. I’m gonna talk to the conservator again. Bye.’ And she just walked away. Peter lost his passive, ingenuous look and smiled, lips tight but all the way to his eyes. He had come to enjoy her little political and cultural interventions, be it in class or in Academic Decathlon, and he always kept quiet when she talked, not wanting to miss anything she had to say. She was an inexhaustible mine of information. He liked her.

‘Anyway, cool painting', Ned concluded.

‘Yeah...’

* * *

It was like a cold shower. Even before turning around he knew it was big. _Very_ big. He didn’t hesitate for a second.

_Mr. Stark._

He swiftly jumped out of the school bus on the Queensboro Bridge and swung as fast as he could back to Manhattan towards the huge spaceship that had just appeared, towering over the skyscrapers. It looked like a giant ring, and his senses were screaming for him to go as far away from it as possible.

_Danger, danger, danger._

He knew Mr. Stark would be there. If this wasn’t an Avengers-level threat, he didn’t know what was. There were people sprinting away in every street, other stunned ones slowly stepping outside buildings, mouth hanging open, and a guy yelled something at him from the bottom of his lungs.

‘Spider-Man! _Hey Spider-Man!_ Help us! They’re on West 4th Street! _West 4th Street!_’

He actually went the other way, the guy probably thinking he was chickening out, but he didn't care, he was drawn to some sudden threat, an acute one, and sure enough he found a huge armored monster not that far away from the museum where he’d been a few minutes ago.

_Wow, okay he’s big._

That thing was fighting someone. _Iron Man. _

It looked a little bit like a troll from _Lord of the Rings_. Peter felt as if inside a video game. It didn’t feel real. Mr. Stark was on the ground, about to be hit by the biggest hammer he had ever seen. He landed right between the monster and his mentor in distress like a knight in shining armor and easily stopped the huge alien from striking his defeated idol with little to no effort. The troll was definitely taken aback.

‘Hey man! What’s up, Mr. Stark?’

'Hey kid, where’d you come from?’

‘A field trip to MoMAaaaah!’ The alien grabbed him and threw him away, probably with all his might, which was saying something. His webbing tore a no-entry sign post off from the ground instead of stopping his fall and he hit the side of a building. _Ow._

After that it was kind of a blur. There was an alien wizard and a human one too, and the alien wanted the human’s magical necklace and Mr. Stark told him to save the wizard so he assumed the human one, and he tried to hold onto him when the guy was caught but then they were both being beamed up like in _Star Trek_ and he ended up stuck on the side of the giant ring, holding on for dear life, and then he looked around and saw Earth, yes, _Earth_, radiating blue and colossal below him, just like when that awesome German guy had decided to free fall from space and he’d watched him live in his bedroom as a kid. He looked up to his right and sure enough, there it was: space, black and terrifying outer space around him. _Holy. shit._ He had to go back. He had to go back to Mr. Stark. It was only then that he realized he was freezing and couldn’t breathe.

‘Pete, you gotta let go, I’m gonna catch you!’

_Oh, thank god Mr. Stark was here!_

‘But you said save the wizard! I can’t breathe’, he gasped, pulling his mask off 100,000 feet from the ground. It was a strange feeling to have a formidable wind hit his face and yet to still be unable to breathe. How the hell was he still alive?

‘You’re too high up! You’re running out of air!’ Mr. Stark’s voice was distant, coming out of his mask now flapping in his hand, but he heard it anyway.

_Yeah, no shit._

‘Yeah, that makes sense’, he said instead, breathless, before losing consciousness. When he regained it, oxygen was being pushed into his lungs with a strong smell of newly burnt metal and he caught a grip of the spacecraft. _The Iron-Spider Suit._ Pride and excitement surged through his veins.

‘Mr. Stark, it smells like a new car in here!’

‘Happy trails, kid. F.R.I.D.A.Y, send him home.’

He was then snatched off the ship's hull by a parachute.

‘Oh _come on!’_

Right at the last second he managed to shoot a string of web onto the ship and slowly began to pull himself back to it, before ripping the parachute off. There was no freaking way he would leave Mr. Stark alone in an alien spaceship. _No. freaking. way._ He took one final look at his now rapidly receding planet, the view making his entire skin crawl.

_Go back! Go back! Go back!_

‘Oh my god!’ I should’ve stayed on the bus...’

It was almost exactly what he’d imagined a spaceship would look like. Except it was real.

_Holy cow, this is really happening…_

He carefully crawled his way along the alien walls and ceilings of endless corridors, following his instincts, until he emerged into a kind of deep, endless pit with many layers of footbridges and platforms. It looked like it had been built by a much larger species with other concerns than home design. Way below him, he could make out some bright light coming from some sort of giant screensaver, exactly like the one his uncle Ben used to have on his old computer, and, staring at it, he realized this was not a screen. This was the front-view port. Those were real stars shooting past.

_Okay, I’m in a movie. This is totally a movie. This isn’t real. Nuh-huh._

He heard a voice coming from down there. The alien. But then there was a faint metallic noise coming from much closer, and he tensed up before slowly crawling down towards it, sneaking around a big pipe to peek down at its source. Relief washed over him when he saw the top of Mr. Stark’s now uncovered head. He was himself staring from above at the alien.

And then the wizard’s flying cape – _this is a dream, this is a dream, this is totally a dream._ – tapped Mr. Stark on the arm and his mentor started, raising his hand to it, ready to shoot, before he saw what it was.

‘Wow, you're a seriously loyal piece of outerwear, aren't you?

‘Yeah, uh, speaking of loyalty...’, Peter said, dropping down next to him.

‘What the f—’

‘I know what you're gonna say.’

‘You should not be here.’

‘I was gonna go home—’

‘I don't wanna hear it.’

‘But it was such a long way down and I just thought about you on the way...’

‘And now I gotta hear it.’

‘…and I kinda stuck to the side of the ship. And this suit is ridiculously intuitive, by the way.’

‘Damn it…’

‘So if anything, it's kinda your fault that I'm here.’

‘What did you just say?’

He was stuck in an alien spacecraft probably light years away from Earth now, and yet he couldn’t help feeling happy at that moment. Here was Mr. Stark, bouncing off him with the same playful, teasing tone of the text messages they’d been sending each other for months, but in the flesh. He somehow felt closer to him now after all this time, even though they hadn’t seen each other for the better part of a year. He had missed him, and finally seeing him in person again made his chest warm. He didn’t want to think about what'd happened the last time they’d seen each other.

‘I— I take that back. And— and now I'm here in space.’

‘Yeah, right where I didn’t _want_ you to be’, the older man stepped closer to him, so very close now, face deadly serious, breaking the familiar rhythm of their little banter. His face was slightly blue from the alien lighting, and Peter had to look away, suddenly intimidated. Mr. Stark went on in a low, slightly panicky tone, quickly whispering to his face. ‘This isn't Coney Island. This isn't a field trip. It's a one-way ticket, you hear me?’

He had fleetingly thought about it, the possibility of never coming back… But there had been no hesitation whatsoever. Where Mr. Stark went, he would go. Besides, what use would he be on Earth right now? Spider-Man had to be where the greatest threat was.

‘Don't pretend like you thought this through…’

‘I _did_ think this through.’

‘…I know you didn’t.’

‘No, I _did_ think this through!’ he exclaimed in a louder voice, speaking over his mentor who was repeating ‘you could _not_ have possibly thought this through.’

‘You can't be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if there's no neighborhood’, Peter said. Mr. Stark stilled, staring at him with no come-back. ‘Okay. That didn't really make any sense, but you know what I'm trying to say’, he added quickly. He watched his idol breathe shakily, reluctantly coming to terms with the fact that there was no turning back for his protégé anyway. Peter sensed the genuine fear he had for him and the warmth expanded to his ears.

_He truly cares about me._

‘Come on, we got a situation’, his mentor said. The good wizard was being tortured below. Peter crouched to study the situation and Mr. Stark threw him a challenge.

‘See him down there? He's in trouble. What's your plan? Go.’

Not only did Peter come up with an effective plan, but he did it in a matter of _seconds_.

‘Um. Okay, okay... uh... okay. D’you ever see this really old movie, _Aliens_?’

He was nearly blasted into space but his plan worked, only because Mr. Stark had added freaking spider legs to his metallic suit. The human wizard wasn’t grateful however, and Peter instantly felt tension between the two men. Was there history between the two?

‘We've gotta turn this ship around’, the now bloody wizard mumbled, painfully getting back on his feet.

‘Yeah. Now he wants to run. Great plan.’

‘No, I want to protect the stone.’

‘And I want you to thank me now. Go ahead, I'm listening.’

That was unnecessarily aggressive, Peter thought.

‘For what? Nearly blasting me to space?’

_Wow._

‘Who just saved your magical ass? Me.’

‘I seriously don't know how you fit your head into that helmet.’

‘Admit it. You should have ducked out when I told you to. I tried to bench you. You refused.’

‘Unlike everyone else in your life, I don't work for you.’

_Oh shiiit._

‘And due to that fact, we're now in a flying doughnut billions of miles away from Earth with no backup.’

Peter timidly raised his hand. ‘I'm backup.’

‘No. You're a stowaway. The adults are talking.’

‘I'm sorry, I— I'm confused as to the relationship here.’ Mr. Stark folded his arms in defense at that, ‘Wh- what is he, your ward?’

‘No.’ Peter said a little too quickly. ‘I'm Peter, by the way.’

‘Doctor Strange.’

‘Oh, we're using our made-up names. Um... I'm Spider-Man, then.’

‘This ship is self-correcting its course. Thing's on autopilot’, Mr. Stark said, walking over to them.

‘Can we control it? Fly us home?’ Dr. Strange asked, a hint of fear in his voice.

Mr. Stark didn’t answer. _Oh my god, he doesn’t know how to. I’m gonna be stuck in space with Tony Stark forever, like in a bad fanfiction._

‘Stark?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Can you get us home?

‘Yeah I heard you. I'm not so sure we should.’

‘Under no circumstance can we bring the Time Stone to Thanos. I don't think you quite understand what's at stake here.’

_The Time Stone? Thanos?_

‘No. It's you who doesn't understand that Thanos has been inside my head for six years since he sent an army to New York and now he's back! And I don't know what to do. So I'm not so sure if it's a better plan to fight him on our turf or his but you saw what they did, what they can do.’

Mr. Stark was whispering at the Doctor’s face now and Peter stepped closer, not wanting to miss a single word.

‘At least on his turf, he's not expecting it. So I say we take the fight to him, Doctor. Do you concur?’

Doctor Strange considered the option with dread in his eyes. ‘Alright, Stark. We go to him. But you have to understand... if it comes to saving you or the kid or the Time Stone... I will not hesitate to let either of you die. I can't, because the fate of the universe depends on it.’

_The Time Stone... The fate of the universe..._ He had a lump of fear in his throat now. He thought about May and about Ned, who both had to be worried sick. He might never see them again. They might die because of this Thanos. He couldn’t screw this up.

‘Nice. Good. Moral compass. We're straight.’ Mr. Stark was scared too. He stepped over to his protégé and without further ceremony tapped each of his shoulders in a mock knighting, unable to meet his eyes, knowing full well what this entailed.

‘Kid, you're an Avenger now.’

That was what he had always wanted, his old dream. He looked at Mr. Stark in disbelief. A smile appeared on his face but it was quickly replaced by the weight of responsibility. After what he’d just heard, it had never been heavier. He couldn’t screw this up. He braced himself for what was to come.

They had a hard time trying to sleep on the metal floor of the ship, laying down for hours, waiting for it to reach its destination without any idea when, and stared at the fleeting stars instead. To Peter’s mild amusement amidst his dread, Doctor Strange did some yoga.

‘How do you think it works?’, Peter whispered after five long hours of silence. The Doctor was now sleeping soundly. ‘This surely can’t be faster than the speed of light. I mean, this wouldn’t make any sense.’

Mr. Stark didn’t answer, but he knew he was wide awake.

‘Anything with mass can’t travel faster than the speed of light, even in a vacuum’, Peter went on. ‘Unless... unless you extend Einstein’s equations to accommodate an infinite relative velocity.’

Still no answer.

‘I read an article about it on space.com.’ He felt the need to explain, lamely. Inappropriate time to talk about theoretical physics, you idiot, he thought. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I’m just… I’m gonna shut up now.’

‘No, don’t’, Mr. Stark then murmured, almost inaudible, almost like a plea. Peter was taken aback by the softness of his voice. His heart instantly felt heavier.

‘I— okay. Okay, so… um… so you know that neither the original Einstein equations nor the new extended theory can describe massive objects moving at the speed of light itself, right? But what if both sets of equations could be broken down into mathematical singularities, where physical properties can't be defined?’ When Mr. Stark didn’t answer, he added timidly. ‘I— I know this sounds crazy but... I can’t stop thinking that maybe I— maybe someone could come up with-'

‘A theory for velocities greater than the speed of light’, Mr. Stark finished.

‘Right. Y— yeah, exactly. Exactly. Well, I— I think maybe... what if the singularity actually divides the universe into two? A world where everything moves slower than the speed of light, and a world where everything moves faster? The laws of physics in these two worlds would turn out to be pretty different.’

Mr. Stark seemed to contemplate the possibility, still staring at the stars they were rushing by.

‘A hidden world beyond the speed of light…’

‘Yeah’, Peter breathed. He was so glad to talk about this with someone who understood his thought process right away. Even Ned had had a hard time following.

‘Would be a strange world indeed…’ Mr. Stark went on in a low voice.

‘Yeah, the whole game would be different. So… d’you think we’re… moving faster than light right now?’

‘I don’t know, kid. That would perhaps explain that watery effect. I can't figure out what it is.'

‘Yeah…that’s… that’s what I thought. It’s weird’, he let out a little nervous laugh.

Another stretch of silence went by.

‘I’m scared, sir.’

He heard him inhale shakily.

‘Me too, kid.’

He couldn’t bear the silence.

‘D’you think it’s just like crossing the sound barrier?’

The older man sighed heavily. ‘I’m not in the mood for playing science bros, Pete...’

‘Yeah, sorry. I— I’ll just—

‘No. I li— I don't mind. Just don’t expect me to give you any answers. This is… I got other things on my mind, but –’ It was so unlike Tony Stark to stutter and be lost for words. ‘Yeah, I don’t mind you talking, kid. So… please.’

_Please?_

And so Peter went on, formulating his own personal theories in a long flow of fast and excited whispers, unaware his voice was sweet music to his mentor’s ears, and before he knew it, Mr. Stark was asleep. He looked around to check if Doctor Strange was still out, and when he saw that he was, he allowed himself to lie closer to Mr. Stark, facing him, mirroring his position with an arm as a pillow, and he watched his sleeping face for a long time before finally drifting off. Yes, he was right where he needed to be.

He woke up to Mr. Stark’s booming voice.

‘Hey sleepyhead! Come over here!’

It turned out the autopilot didn’t include self-landing.

What eventually came after they survived their crash on Titan was not exactly what he’d expected: a trio of weirdoes composed of an insect lady, a brawny blue idiot and a human guy who thought Missouri was a planet. Peter had difficulty following what was going on from then on, feeling a bit like he hadn’t really woken up. Space was weird.

When he came out of the broken doughnut and had a look around the first alien planet he’d ever been on, he was reminded of the creepy Dalí painting he’d seen in MoMA. He was in the middle of a weird, eerie orange wasteland, but instead of melting clocks there were dilapidated ships and buildings as far as the eye could see, pieces of debris floating and slowly drifting like balloons. His feet were a little unsteady. He stayed close to Mr. Stark, resisting the urge to take his arm. _Billions of miles away from Earth…_ How could you feel so lucky and cursed at the same time?

‘What happened to this planet? It’s eight degrees off its axis, gravitational pull is all over the place’, the guy from Missouri said, holding out some tool of measure.

Peter looked around at the colossal wrecks and saw the insect lady bouncing off the ground as if on a trampoline. He had a hard time stopping himself from staring at her antennas and at the big grayish blue guy. They were aliens, freaking aliens, but they looked so… human; unlike the evil wizard they had blasted to space. When Mr. Stark said he had a plan, the big guy yawned.

_Great._

‘You see, not winging it isn’t really what they… do’, the Missouri guy explained.

‘Uh, what is it exactly that they do?’, Peter asked.

‘Kick names, take ass’, the insect girl replied, trying to sound and look intimidating.

_And... we’re totally gonna die…, _Peter thought.

Mr. Stark was completely speechless, which was saying something. He tried to explain the need to coalesce to these weirdoes, but then something even weirder than them happened.

It turned out that what Doctor Strange had been doing on the ship wasn’t yoga after all.

‘Hey what was that?’, Peter asked nervously, all of them walking to a shaken Doctor Strange who had just come out of a trance crying out.

‘I went forward in time, to view alternate futures...’, Strange replied, breathless, the Time Stone still glowing green on his chest. ‘...to see all possible outcomes of the coming conflict.’

‘How many did you see?’, the Missouri guy, who was apparently only half-human, asked.

’14,000,605.’

‘How many we win?’, Mr. Stark asked.

He didn’t answer right away, and Peter’s heart clenched. All of them were holding their breaths. _Please don’t say zero, please don’t say none._ Dr. Strange held Mr. Stark’s gaze for long painful seconds, as if looking for something there.

‘One.’

‘One? _One_?’ the Missouri guy exclaimed after a few seconds of stunned silence. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

Peter’s stomach dropped. One chance out of fourteen million… They had more chances of being eaten by a bear. The two men were still staring at each other. Mr. Stark was the one breaking eye contact, turning around to face Peter but not meeting his eyes.

‘I get it you can’t tell us anything that might help us’, his mentor said.

‘No’, Strange replied.

‘No? _No_? You just saw the _future_ and you can’t _help_ us?’ the Missouri guy barked.

‘No, he can’t’, the insect lady slowly murmured.

The half-human sighed in disbelief. ‘I’m looking for my girl, Gamora, can you see her?’ He advanced towards Strange who maintained his gaze, not answering. ‘Can you _see_ her? Hey! I’m talking to you! _Can you see her?_’

Mr. Stark was grabbing his arm, trying to pull him back. Strange was impassible, but Peter thought he saw a hint of sympathy in his eyes anyway.

It took Mr. Stark a while to calm the guy down and make them all understand that they needed to follow a coherent plan. He talked slowly as if in front of an audience of 5 year-olds, and cast occasional quick glances at Strange, as if seeking for approval. Strange kept a steady poker face.

‘Mr. Stark?’

‘Mmh?’

‘What happens if… if Thanos gets the Time Stone?’ Peter asked through his mask in a small voice once he was in position on top of a piece of wreckage above where Dr. Strange was calmly waiting for Thanos.

‘Bad stuff.’

He didn’t have the courage to insist. If Mr. Stark thought it was better if he didn’t know, then so be it.

‘I— I’m—’

He had wanted to say _I’m glad I’m here, sir, with you, _but something suddenly appeared not far from Dr. Strange. Some sort of sparkly black cloud.

And there he was. _Thanos._

Peter was surprised. He hadn’t expected a calm, smart and soft-spoken purple guy. He listened to him talk to Dr. Strange with awe and heart-clenching dread.

_One out of fourteen million._

So _that_ was what he wanted to do; get all six Stones and commit massive genocide with a snap of his fingers – like a _space Hitler_… He radiated power and danger and a quiet resolve that was even scarier than the violence that finally came when they tried to tear the Gauntlet from his hand.

Somehow, when he first heard him speak, Peter knew he was going to die.

_One out of fourteen million._

They tried to stop him, they really did. But he was just invincible. Peter fought him with some help from the Doctor but none of his blows seemed to do him any damage. Thanos grabbed him by the neck and threw him on a piece of junk. His strength was such that Peter passed out for a few seconds. He got up and tried again, but was full-on punched in the face. He was out for a few seconds then too, and regained consciousness hearing Mr. Stark’s voice.

‘Hey, Parker! Get up! Now!’ His voice was trembling, and he had never called him _Parker_ before.

He did, and they almost did it. _Almost_. 

‘Parker! Help! Get over here, she can’t hold him on much longer, let’s go!’

But the half-human idiot realized Thanos had killed his beloved Gamora and completely lost it. Just as Peter had almost gotten the Gauntlet off his hand, Thanos came out of the insect lady’s magic-induced trance and threw her away really hard and she came flying across at least a hundred feet.

‘Oh God.’

He caught her in time just before huge pieces of something, boulders, balls of fire, came crashing to the ground. He held on to her when they were both sent into the air. There was no ground anymore. He saw others falling down around him and caught everyone with his webbing.

‘I got you! I got you! Sorry I can’t remember anybody’s names!’

When the semblance of a ground reformed below their feet, he put them all delicately down before sprinting around, frantically looking for Mr. Stark.

‘We all go separate ways! The first to find Thanos screams really really loudly!’ the blue guy shouted.

Peter ran and swung around but couldn’t find his mentor. He _had_ to find him. If he had to die, it had to be with him. He climbed up a huge dilapidated spacecraft and looked around. Finally, he caught a glimpse of some commotion and jumped towards it. The half-human guy was there already.

When he was by his side again, it was too late. Mr. Stark was on the ground and for a second Peter thought the worst, but then he saw him move. He rushed to his side and put both his hands on his shoulders, examining his face.

‘Mr. Stark! What happened?’

‘We lost’, Mr. Stark whispered, still not looking at him.

Peter was speechless. He offered him his hand, pulling him back up. Mr. Stark was in pain. There was blood on both sides of his face, on his lips, inside his mouth, Peter noticed.

‘Something’s happening’, the insect lady suddenly said, looking around. Peter felt it too. Shivers ran down his spine, goosebumps appearing on his entire body. It tingled all over in a very strange way. And then, with no warning, he saw her suddenly being turned into dust, right by the half-human’s side who looked at where she had just been standing in horror. Peter looked at Mr. Stark who was breathing hard, looking as stunned as he felt. Then the big guy got all dusty too, more slowly, and said in a small voice that was so strange coming out of his mouth, before vanishing too: ‘Quill?’

Quill. That was his name. Quill was in shock. He turned around, looked at Mr. Stark with lost, pleading eyes.

'Steady, Quill.' Mr. Stark said, before Quill turned into dust like his friends.

Peter had vertigo all of a sudden. He felt sick, eyes watering, about to throw up, and cold. He staggered a little, not hearing what Doctor Strange was saying, vaguely registering that the wizard was disappearing too. Now it was just Mr. Stark and him and the blue cyborg lady who had failed like them in trying to stop Thanos. He felt his heart stutter, then beat again laboriously, and something in his veins moved, tickled, all over his body. His blood. His blood was _bubbling_. It wasn’t right.

‘Mr. Stark? I don’t feel so good.’ He couldn’t breathe properly. The _bubbling_ wasn’t painful _per se_, but it intensified, as if it was breaking his skin apart, as if… as if he was…

‘I don’t— I don’t know what’s happening.’

‘You’re alright’, Mr. Stark said.

...as if he was _disintegrating_. He was turning into dust, like the others. This was happening to him. This was the end.

_I’m dying._

‘Hey, hey!’ He latched on to Mr. Stark, holding on to his shoulders for dear life. ‘I don't wanna go. I don't wanna go, sir, please. Please, I don't wanna go! I don't wanna go!’

It was obvious his mentor couldn’t do anything. He was dying, his superhuman body fighting not to go, death taking a longer time than for the others. He was too young to die. May would never recover. His feet were first. It was slow. Much slower than for the others. He collapsed, now legless, pulling Mr. Stark down with him.

He had never been kissed. He had never had sex. They were such stupid thoughts when he only had seconds to live. _Seconds._ May, Ben, mom and dad. Dad... _‘It’s okay’,_ he pictured him saying to him. ‘_It’s okay.’_

Mr. Stark was there above him. He felt the urge to say something really dumb but couldn't. It was too painful and he couldn’t do that to him. Instead, when he saw the tears in the older man’s eyes and the sheer look of horror on his face, he felt the need to reassure him.

_And if you die, I’ll feel like that’s on me, _Mr. Stark's words from so long ago echoed in his mind._  
_

‘I’m sorry’, he managed to say, before the nothingness that was eating his body reached his neck, and the last thing he did was to tilt his face up out of reflex, as if he could escape the wave of death from submerging him.

The alien orange sky was the last thing he saw, and his last thought was not of May, or Ben, or his parents, not even of Mr. Stark, but of that horrible painting,_ The Persistence Of Memory._

* * *

Light hit his eyes too harshly. He closed them and drew in a shaky breath. He tried to open them again, squinting, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes. The sky was orange. An orange sky... He was wearing the Iron Spider Suit... Right, he was on Titan!

_Mr. Stark!_

He got up too quickly and almost fell over. His legs were badly shaking.

‘What the hell, man?’ He heard someone say on his left.

Peter staggered around, feeling disoriented. When he saw the insect lady, he remembered the _dusting_ at once. It was a vague memory, as if it had happened a long time ago and his brain was foggy. His first instinct was nevertheless to pat himself on the chest, on his arms and face, looking at his own feet to check if they were there, all the while breathing heavily like a man who had almost drowned to death. He looked up and all of them were staring at him. He frantically did a 360 but didn’t see _him_. Where was he?

‘You okay, man?’ Quill said, frowning. ‘What the hell happened? Where’s your boss?’

‘You’re alright.’ A deep voice boomed, and Peter jumped. It was Doctor Strange, who went on in a slow, solemn voice. ‘We have all been the victims of Thanos. He did it. He got the six Infinity Stones and snapped his fingers, killing half of all living creatures just as he said he would. We were part of the unlucky half. Now listen very carefully to what I am going to say. _That_ was _five years ago_. The Avengers brought us back, but now, they need our help. Thanos is back, and he is trying to do it again, but this time, there won’t be any survivors. We have to get back to Earth. Now. They _need_ us. _All of us_.’

He looked at Peter when he said that last sentence and Peter nodded, panting, mouth hanging open.

‘You… you said _five years_?’

‘Yes. We’re in the year 2023 now. Come on, we don’t have much time.'

_2023._ _2023?_ He had just got all dusty, his senses still feeling a lingering prickling, and that was _five years ago?_ He had been dead for _five years?_

Oh my god, May. And Ned. He was alive now. _Oh my god, I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive!_

‘Is Mr. Stark alive?’ he nearly shouted.

Dr. Strange paused, and Peter almost sobbed, misinterpreting his silence.

‘_Yes_. He’s the main reason we’re still alive.’

He couldn’t help but laugh. It was a breathy laugh of joy and relief that was actually half-sobbing, and it seemed to startle the others. Doctor Strange was staring at him, with something in his eyes Peter couldn’t identify. Sympathy? Sadness? Pity? _Oh shit, can he read minds too?_

When they went through the many portals the Doctor opened for them and finally landed on Earth, there was a huge army already there with every single Avenger and many more fighting by their side. Peter landed on the front line and withdrew his Iron mask, feeling a surge of pride and anticipation. He looked around for Iron Man, for the man who had saved his life, for the hero who had probably more or less forgotten him in this surreal, unknown span of five years. _2023._

He fought the aliens viciously, with no mercy, all the while trying to see him, to get to him, he had to _find_ him! When he finally did, Mr. Stark was on the ground again, and he ran to him and helped him up, just like he had a few minutes– no, _five years_ _ago_.

‘Hey! Holy cow. You will _not_ believe what's been going on. Do you remember when we were in space? And I got all dusty? I woke up and you were gone, but Doctor Strange was there, right? He was like, "It's been five years. Come on, they need us!" And then he started doing the yellow sparkly thing that he does all the time...'

Mr. Stark looked different. His hair was lighter. His goatee and moustache had white in them. He looked older and… softer. He was looking at him with an expression Peter had never seen on him. It was… yeah, _soft_. His dark eyes were sparkling.

‘Kid, hold me’, he murmured in a small voice full of emotion, stepping into Peter’s personal space so close to his face that for the fraction of a second Peter had the crazy thought that the man was going in for a kiss.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked, not registering what his idol had just said.

When Iron Man’s armor collided with his own body, Peter couldn’t stop a soft breathy moan from escaping his mouth. Mr. Stark was hugging him, holding him tight. He put his arms around the older man and his eyes closed of their own volition from the pleasure of it. He tried to control his breathing and calm his heart down, embarrassed at the sound that he had just produced.

‘Huh, this is nice’, he said, trying to diffuse the awkwardness.

Mr. Stark didn’t let go. He waited for him to break the hug but he didn't. It went on and on and Peter could smell him, his left cheek brushing against Mr. Stark’s neck, the hair on the side of his head softly mingling with his like a caress. It was so long and so tight and Peter melted into it, the noise of the battlefield barely hitting his ears, his mind and heart foggy with..._ love._ He heard and _felt _Mr. Stark’s deep, slow, heavy breathing. He sounded a little bit like he was asleep.

This was more than a friendly hug. _Five years._ It had been five years since he'd last seen him and Mr. Stark remembered him. He remembered him and he still cared. He more than cared. He –

A loud blast to their left broke them apart, and before they were jumping away and going back their separate ways into battle, he caught a glimpse of his mentor’s face and was shocked to his core. There was the trace of a tear on his left cheek. He’d been crying in his arms. He looked… in pain. Embarrassed. Lost. _Guilty._ And then they were separated again.

Peter’s cheek, chest and arms remained warm from their hug even when he was running for his life holding _the_ Gauntlet, even when fighting dozens of space dogs at once, even when he finally activated the Instant Kill mode Mr. Stark had put in his suits. He was saved by Captain America throwing him Thor’s hammer, and then by a woman in a silver Iron suit. _Mr. Stark’s partner_ Pepper Potts, he realized, his heart constricting.

‘Hang on, I gotta you, kid.’

_She must be perfect too, _was his only thought about her.

He was then thrown onto _Pegasus_ with another woman riding it. _Wait, are Greek gods real too? This is awesome!_ He felt exhilarated, supported, protected, _loved_. He couldn’t shake the hug from his mind. Yes, Mr. Stark_ loved_ him.

‘Hey! Nice to meet youoooh my god!’

Before he knew it, he was on the ground again and was hit by a powerful blast coming from the sky. His mask was instantly destroyed by the shock of it and he was projected farther onto the ground, the Gauntlet escaping his arms. And then everything stopped.

There was a sudden, strange silence. Peter saw the huge alien spaceship above them direct its blasters upwards. Something was coming from space at high speed, shedding a stream of bright light that went straight through the alien ship twice, effectively destroying it.

The light grew larger and larger, blinding, as it came closer and closer to Peter. He fumbled for the Gauntlet, grabbed it and held it tight to his chest, now unable to keep his eyes open and feeling blinded even with closed eyelids. He felt something heavy land right next to him and braced himself. The light subsided and Peter squinted his eyes open.

It was a young woman. An imposing, beautiful, strong woman with short blond hair standing over him, looking down at him. Peter had an instant crush on her.

‘Hi, I’m… Peter Parker’, he very awkwardly said.

‘Hey, Peter Parker’, she greeted him, amused. ‘You got something for me?’

He didn’t have to ask who she was. There was no doubt she was on their side. Other badass women joined them and together, they went to kick Thanos’s ass, before a huge blast, bigger than all of the others combined, hit him so hard he flew back hundreds of feet from where he was fighting two big aliens. He hit something face-first, something hard and made of metal, and he passed out. When he woke up, his nose was bleeding profusely. He wiped himself with the back of his armored hand and looked around, getting back to his feet. It was quiet, too quiet.

_Mr. Stark._ He _had_ to find him. He felt as if he was constantly trying to get back to him.

And then he saw the first one: an alien turning into dust. And then another one, and another. The memory of his own death hit him like a train. The terror he had felt, the way he had begged in Mr. Stark’s arms, it all came back to him fully this time. He held his own chest, bending over, gasping for air. His chest grew tight, he couldn’t breathe properly, but he didn’t feel the tingling and weird bubbling in his body that he had felt the last time.

‘Yes! YES!’ A guy shouted. He looked up, searching for him. It was the talking raccoon Peter had seen fighting on their side.

He understood then and looked around for confirmation and sure enough, only the aliens were disintegrating. There were only allies still standing around him. They had _won!_ But how?

_Mr. Stark._

He quickly jumped away and began to frantically look for him once more, his senses guiding him, and soon enough, there he was; on the ground, sitting against something, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He was injured. War Machine reached him first.

‘Tony? Tony, can you hear me?’ Mr. Rhodes said.

‘Mr. Stark? Hey!’ Peter said, voice breaking.

He clearly couldn’t speak. He looked... _No. No, no, God, please no._

‘Mr. Stark? Can you hear me?’ Peter repeated Rhodey’s question, already crying, crouching before his idol and taking his armored hand in his. The hero wasn’t holding his gaze, staring blankly into the distance. ‘Mr. Stark, it’s Peter.’ The older man met his eyes then. ‘We won, Mr. Stark. We won, Mr. Stark. We won, you did it, sir, you did it’, he softly sobbed with a pleading look. _Please, don’t die, don’t die, please._

‘F.R.I.D.A.Y.’, a female voice suddenly called out from behind them, and he was gently pushed aside by Pepper Potts.

‘Life functions severely damaged. Evidence of trauma to the liver, right lung and right kidney. High levels of gamma radiation...’ the AI sadly responded.

‘How high?’, Rhodey asked.

’23 sieverts.’

Peter sobbed, falling to his knees. He knew that beyond 10 Sv, the only possible outcomes were paralysis and death.

Mr. Stark suddenly tried to say something, a word with an ‘s’ in it. In tears, Peter moved closer to him to be able to catch it, right when a much more composed but equally distressed Pepper Potts did the same thing, and the woman’s long blond hair brushed against the left side of his face. Mr. Stark moved his lips again.

‘Jesus', he managed to whisper with great difficulty.

Peter frowned, taken aback. All of the things he thought Mr. Stark could be, religious was not one of them. Then again, some atheists turned in the face of death… Having to witness the great Tony Stark reduced to this state broke his heart.

‘Jesus Protocol activated’, F.R.I.D.A.Y chimed in all of a sudden, making them start. ‘Unfinished preliminary coding demanding extensive additional research. Transferring commands over to Dr. Bruce Banner, Dr. Stephen Strange and Peter Parker.’

_Wait, what?_

‘We need to get him out of here fast. Get him to a hospital’, Captain America firmly said behind their backs. Neither he, Ms. Potts nor Rhodey answered him, stunned by what they’d just heard. Just when Mr. Rogers started to shout something else, a flying thing came wheezing right towards them before abruptly stopping to hover above Mr. Stark. It was a drone.

‘Is that—’ Rhodey started.

The drone opened like a box with a clink and something literally bounced from it and punched Mr. Stark right in the face, making all of them jump.

‘What the hell!’ Rhodey shouted, lifting his arm. He froze when they all saw what it was. An oxygen mask with something else dangling from a small plastic container. It was a long and narrow tube which was already hooked to his mentor’s body, transferring an unknown clear substance into it.

‘Oh my god’, Pepper Potts breathed out. Was it relief or fear or both?

Peter was panting, but then he looked at the drone again and at the letters clearly written on its side: STARK INDUSTRIES.

Mr. Stark blinked slowly, sleepily. He was losing consciousness. He weakly glanced at Ms. Potts and then at Peter himself and then back at Ms. Potts, before closing his eyes for good.


	16. Genius

Peter followed the voices and discreetly entered the small room full of people, Doctor Strange noticing him right away, glancing at him with piercing eyes. The Hulk was half-lying, half-sitting in a hospital bed, talking _normally_ in fluent English. After five years, there was a lot to take in...

‘There’s no way… I’m sorry, Clint, but… 23 sieverts… I mean… it’s a wonder _I’_m still alive…’, he said sadly.

‘That’s exactly what the lead surgeon said and _no one_ has _any_ logical answer to that and that’s precisely my point! He shouldn’t be alive, so _why the hell is he?_’ Hawkeye insisted, glancing at the others for approval.

‘He’s right. We have to consider the possibility that he _did_ prepare for this in a way we can’t fully understand yet’, Captain America said in his perfect voice while looking at the Hulk, then at Rhodey, and then at Doctor Strange.

‘Exactly’, the Wakandan girl with the strong accent agreed. ‘The notes are obviously nonsensical when you read them out like that, but it is clear to me that Stark had foreseen this since they point to high radiations absorption.’

Peter presumed she was a scientist from Wakanda. She looked really young. Rhodey sighed heavily, arms crossed. What a sight they had to be right now, still in their suits except for Rhodey, still sweaty and bloody and bruised, all gathered around the now smart Hulk who’d had his entire right side burnt by the Gauntlet.

Mr. Stark was already undergoing surgery to stop some internal bleeding. He was in critical condition...

‘Guys… I mean…’ the Hulk trailed off.

‘The guy’s a _genius_. He didn’t survive this by _accident_’, the Falcon chimed in.

‘And he did invent time travel, so…’ Ant-Man added smugly, before his face fell when he remembered that only four of them in this room knew about this. ‘Oh boy...’ he mumbled. Cap closed his eyes at the blunder, sighing.

_Time travel?_ Peter thought he couldn’t possibly have heard this right.

‘Wait, what?’ the Wasp asked in astonishment. ‘He did _what?_’ She quickly turned to Ant-Man and looked at him accusingly. 'You said the Stones had to go through the van, but not _travel through time!_'

Ant-Man opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

‘Whoooh… wait a minute…’, the Falcon quietly exclaimed, unfolding his arms and extending a hand to illustrate his bewilderment.

‘Long story’, Rhodey cut them off.

‘Bruce. You _have_ to take a look at it again’, Cap went on, pleading, ignoring this new problem.

The now huge and green Bruce Banner chewed on the inside of his bottom lip, then slowly shook his head apologetically. ‘I already told you, Steve… there’s almost nothing there… nothing that makes sense anyway.’ Cap looked down, pained. ‘I mean yes, he obviously thought about it, and what he found out was a start; it did help him a little…’

‘Then we have to find out what he did’, Hawkeye interjected over his words.

‘His suit –’ the Wasp mumbled.

‘…but I’m afraid he didn’t have time to really formulate anything… truly _conclusive_’, Dr. Banner went on in his deep Hulk voice. ‘Like I said… 23 sieverts… He may have softened the blow… but guys, this is… this is a deadly dose.’

‘What do _you_ think?’ the Falcon tilted his chin at Doctor Strange and they all turned to him. Peter assumed the Doctor hadn’t said a word yet.

‘I was a neurosurgeon, not a physicist’, the wizard replied. He then looked down before abruptly locking eyes with Peter, holding his gaze, making him start.

‘So… why did he choose _you_?’ Rhodey asked.

‘I know nothing more than you do. I’m here out of courtesy. The man saved my life twice', Strange explained.

‘Are we all just going to ignore what the insect-man just said?’ the girl from Wakanda asked in a loud voice.

‘It’s- it’s actually Ant-Man...’ Ant-Man mumbled, Rhodey shooting him a murderous look.

‘Show it to me’, Peter suddenly said, and they all turned towards him and stared at him as if he’d grown another head, only just now noticing his presence beside the door.

Pepper Potts had ordered Rhodey to bring the ‘Jesus Protocol’ data to Dr. Banner and Doctor Strange, sending Peter along with him, but he hadn’t been able to look at any of it yet. He had tried in vain to obtain the data during the short flight. ‘Kid, you’re being inappropriate’, Rhodey had told him, making him freeze. Happy had then caught him right after their jet had landed next to the military base that now served as a hospital for them, handing him a phone without a single glance. ‘Call your aunt’, he had called out while quickly walking away. Peter had stared at the unfamiliar device in his hand, noting its more modern aspect, feeling like he was holding an invaluable treasure. When he’d heard his aunt’s broken voice, he’d teared up. She had rambled on and on, asking him tons of questions and he’d done his best to reassure her, promising her he’d fly home as soon as possible. After the call, he had looked around but he had been left alone. He had found a woman all clad in black who had helped him find them. When he had entered the room, they had apparently already finished looking at the data.

He needed to see for himself.

‘I – I know some things…’ Peter felt the need to justify himself. Rhodey rolled his eyes. Ant-Man and the Wasp were frowning at him, probably wondering what a kid was doing here.

‘Who are you again?’, the Wakandan girl asked.

‘I’m Peter. Parker. I – please. Can I have a look at the data?’

Nobody said anything, a weird silence settling in the room. They all probably knew that he was the third and final person to whom Mr. Stark had entrusted his precious tech. It was Hawkeye who moved first, retrieving something from the Hulk’s lap. A holographic display appeared above it. Peter squinted, stepping closer to the chaotic notes full of abbreviations. They looked like they’d been typed in a rush.

**conformations & packing. up to 1.5b cores t.a. ** **4.0 kJ/mol of lowest energy predicted str. whole CSP process down to just 1–3 weeks for _Z_′ = 1 systems. Decay scheme for 5 Sv+.**

T1/2(11C ) : 20,361 (23) minQ+(11C ) : 1982,5 (9) keV

**Electron Capture Transitions > Energy: 1982. Probabilityx100: 0.25 Nature: allowed. PK: 0.9 PL: 0.08. Gamma Emissions > Energy keV 511. ** **Current amplitude 84,260 M50.**

**⟨** ** _A_ ** ** _S_ ** **⟩** **=** **Tr** **[** ** _ρ_ ** **(** ** _t_ ** **)** ** _A_ ** **]=** **Tr** ** _S_ ** **[** ** _σ_ ** **(** ** _t_ ** **)** ** _A_ ** **]=** **∑** ** _a_ ** **,** ** _b_ ** ** _σ_ ** ** _ab_ ** **(** ** _t_ ** **)** ** _A_ ** ** _ba_ ** **=** ** _Tr_ ** ** _S_ ** ** _Tr_ ** ** _B_ ** **[** ** _ρ_ ** **(** ** _t_ ** **)** ** _A_ ** **]**

He recognized a reduced decay scheme and vaguely identified other parts. It was indeed pretty obvious that Mr. Stark had been preparing to receive gamma radiations and had partially succeeded in reducing their effects on his body. The question now was how far he’d gone. Had he effectively saved himself or just prolonged his own agony? Was there a way they could figure out his notes, finish his work and help him? If they succeeded, it would trigger a revolution in nuclear research and civilian nuclear energy, he realized. The last equation made no sense. He vaguely identified its logical pattern but it had nothing to do with the rest. How could they know what Mr. Stark had meant? This was a puzzle with a lot of missing parts. He stared at the last equation for a long time.

‘This is ridiculous’, he heard Rhodey say after a while. ‘How old are you again?’

'I am 18. How old are _you_?' the Wakandan girl interjected, answering in his place, defending him with surprising vehemence. Rhodey was taken aback and shut up with a look of _fair enough _on his face. Peter instantly liked her.

‘I… I’m sorry, but he's right. I don’t understand’, Peter mumbled, frowning at the equation. Captain America looked down in disappointment. ‘I need time, I – can I have some time?’

‘Go ahead, kid.’ Dr. Banner said, picking the small device with his giant left hand and handing it to him, a small sad smile on his lips. ‘It’s okay, we all tried.’

They all left to let him rest. The Wakandan girl tapped him on the shoulder in the corridor and he turned around, holding the holographic device firmly in his right hand.

‘We haven’t been formally introduced. I am Shuri, Head of Science in Wakanda.’

‘Hi. I’m Peter Parker…’

‘I know, you already said that.’

‘Uh, yeah, sorry.’

‘I just wanted to tell you: if you find anything new first, let me know so I can help’, and she handed him another device, like a high-tech beeper. He slowly took it with his free hand, surprised, and she smiled.

‘Thank you', he told her.

‘Good luck’, she added sadly, before joining other Wakandans who were waiting for her.

Peter walked shyly into the bigger room where some of the others had gone. Hawkeye and the Falcon were sitting on one of the two couches there, Ant-Man and the Wasp on the other, holding hands, and Captain America was standing in front of a coffee machine, his arms crossed over his muscular chest. Doctor Strange was nowhere to be seen.

This was their waiting room. Peter sat crossed-legged on the floor next to the door and switched the holographic display on in his lap. Nobody talked. He ended up staring at it for more than an hour, refusing to take his turn with the nurse who was taking care of the other warriors and their much less serious injuries. He felt filthy in his suit but he didn’t care. He eventually accepted a sandwich from Captain America after everyone else had stopped trying to make him eat. He realized in a daze that he hadn’t eaten in ages. The last thing he remembered eating was a Peanut Butter Cup on the school bus. _Five years ago._

The imposing first Avenger crouched in front of him and presented him with a wrapped sandwich and a small bottle of water. ‘You need some food in you if you want to figure this out’, he said with a sympathetic look. ‘And some rest too’, he added. Peter felt intimidated, more by his famous voice than by his stature. It was so stupid to still be star-struck after all they had been through, but he couldn’t help it.

‘I can’t – I can’t sleep right now. But thank you, sir. Thank you’, he said, taking the sandwich. It was close to 11pm now, but there was no way he could fall asleep.

‘Did you get any water from Happy on the jet?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You gotta drink some more, kid.’ Peter had forgotten to take the bottle from Cap’s other hand. He blushed and grabbed it with a shy smile. The older man looked at him with sad, worried eyes before standing up and walking back to the chair he had been sitting on next to the coffee machine. It suddenly occurred to Peter that Steve Rogers knew what it was like, to wake up in the future... Only for him it hadn’t been five years…

‘Where’s Black Widow?’ Peter suddenly asked after a moment. He heard Hawkeye take a sharp intake of breath and Peter looked over at him. He was glancing at the ceiling with a pained expression. He didn’t need any explanation.

‘I’m sorry. I – I didn’t know.’

‘It’s okay. How could you?’ Hawkeye whispered and smiled at him.

Cap added in a low voice: ‘Vision too’, and Peter turned his eyes to the old hero’s sad ones before looking down at the equation again. ‘Is it true? That Mr. Stark invented time travel?’

‘Yes’, Cap simply replied. The Wasp sat up, clearly wanting more explanations than the one her partner had already provided her.

‘I— I think Mr. Stark's last equation is about Quantum relaxation’, Peter slowly said. ‘Did you travel through time using Quantum physics?’

There was a faint _splatch_ on the floor. Ant-Man had dropped his sandwich.

‘You can read Quantum equations?’ the Wasp exclaimed.

‘I— I think so. A bit, yeah. I read about it.’

Peter noticed Cap was staring at him with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth.

‘Can’t we just go back in time and… and save him?’ the Falcon suddenly asked.

‘No.’ Hawkeye said. ‘It would mess everything up.’

‘Let me have another look at it.’ The Wasp said standing up and walking over to Peter, kneeling next to him. Peter watched her pretty eyes study the equation. ‘Oh my god, you’re right…', she said after a moment. 'But... what does this have to do with radiation absorption?’

Everything clicked in Peter’s head.

‘I know. I know!’ He cried out. Cap abruptly stood up, then the Falcon, then Hawkeye. Ant-Man stayed on the couch, stunned. ‘I know how his suit works, or at least the one… the one he had on before... before the…’

‘The snap’, the Falcon finished for him.

‘Yeah… It’s nanoarchitecture! It’s built out of nanolattices that expand or retract on demand. I— I think he used Pym’s theories to figure out how to do that on an even smaller scale... on the molecular level... I know he did, he told me! And... and then maybe… maybe—’

‘He started working on the atomic level’, the Wasp finished.

‘Exactly! Yes, yes! Or even subatomic. I think this equation is about that! Look, the first part is not about radiation absorption at all, it’s about nanoarchitecture. He applied nanoarchitecture to subatomic decay schemes, to stop them from being altered, to nullify the effects of gamma rays!’

‘And lingering radioactivity…’, the Wasp added in a single breath, shocked.

Hawkeye abruptly stepped forward and, to Peter’s astonishment, he kneeled down before him, grabbed his face and kissed him hard on the forehead.

‘You _fucking_ genius.’

‘Wait. How can that help Tony now?’ Cap asked.

‘You have to show us how it works.’ The Wasp said, her face full of wonder close to his. Peter took a few seconds to recover from Hawkeye's violent kiss.

‘I– I can’t. I don’t know how to. But… my suit, it works like that too. I mean, the nanolattices...’

‘Yes. This is the same technology my father designed for _our _suits’, she confirmed. ‘But I’m talking about the rest. If it’s true he figured out a way to stop gamma rays from altering nuclei energy states… Peter, do you think you can figure it all out?’

They were all breathing hard. Peter was shaking. This was a matter of life and death for Mr. Stark.

‘I don’t know’, he pitifully replied. ‘I – I can call the Wakandan girl! Maybe_ she_ could! I’m sorry, I can't remember her name.’ He fought back tears. They all had hope on their faces and he was terrified of disappointing them, of giving them and himself _false hope_.

‘Shuri’, Cap said.

’What about your father?’ Hawkeye asked the Wasp. She froze then shook her head. 

‘I’m sorry.’

’Don’t be, he’s alive. I just don’t think he’d want to help a Stark.’

’Even after what he did?’ Hawkeye exclaimed angrily. ‘He saved all of us! Including your father!’

The Wasp closed her eyes and sighed. ‘I can try...’

Half an hour later, he was back in the Hulk’s room with Shuri, Hawkeye, Doctor Strange and one of Mr. Stark’s surgeons Dr. Epstein. Rhodey had stayed with Pepper Potts and Cap and Falcon had stayed in the waiting room to talk. Mr. Stark had survived the emergency surgery but was still in critical condition. The adults were talking agitatedly, but Shuri remained quiet, silently staring at the projected notes with a curious look on her face.

‘His bodily functions have already been hit. Provided what you’re saying is correct, he didn’t have time to finish designing its application and was therefore unable to effectively shield himself’, Doctor Strange said.

‘He would’ve needed months, perhaps years of testing...’, the Hulk sadly confirmed.

‘But he didn’t have that time’, the surgeon said.

‘So… what you’re saying is… it’s too late?’ Hawkeye asked.

‘His theory may have been correct, but his application was flawed. The damage has been done.’ Dr. Epstein replied as if settling the matter for good.

‘Is he dying?’ Peter blurted out. Everyone froze.

‘Yes.’ the surgeon sadly answered. Peter's misery was instantly interrupted by Shuri.

‘Because of the radiation he was eventually unable to nullify?’ Shuri asked, her eyes still glued to the notes. Peter looked at her. She didn't look sad at all, quite the opposite. Hope surged in his chest.

‘Yes.’

‘How long does he have?’ Hawkeye whispered.

The surgeon sighed. ’12 to 24 hours…Maybe more…’

‘You said his body took 23 Sv, correct?’ Shuri went on.

‘Yes', the Hulk answered, making the surgeon do a double-take and stare at him with wide eyes, then back at Shuri.

‘How do you know that?’ Shuri asked like an investigator.

‘His A.I. measured it.’ Peter said, breathing hard and attracting the surgeon's stunned gaze.

‘Have you measured the radiation levels since?’ Shuri went on.

‘Yes’, the surgeon said in a loud voice. ‘It’s 9 Sv!’ he exclaimed.

‘Interesting… Radioactivity takes a_ much_ longer time to recede’, Shuri said with mock innocence.

A much longer time indeed… Several thousands of years! Peter’s mouth was hanging open and Shuri smiled and _winked_ at him.

‘Maybe his A.I. measured it wrong', the surgeon said.

‘No. F.R.I.D.A.Y's 100% reliable', a male voice interjected on his right. It was Rhodey entering the room.

‘What does it mean for Tony?’ Cap asked behind him. 

Shuri answered him with bright eyes and what she said made Peter's legs suddenly unsteady. ‘It means that thanks to the boy here we now know exactly what Stark wanted to do, and now, if you bring me his suit, I can perhaps understand _how _he did it.’

‘And save him?’ Hawkeye asked.

‘And save him', Shuri repeated with no hesitation, a sparkle of excitement in her eyes.

They rushed to where Mr. Stark’s operating room was, Peter following Rhodey and the surgeon into an adjacent room, Shuri by his side. Among the four of them only _he_ had access to the Iron Man suit’s commands. He didn’t notice Doctor Strange trailing along behind them. They found the small metallic object they were looking for and Peter ordered it to unfold. It slowly, twitchily expanded to a broken suit with its entire right side blackened and still sparkling, trying and failing to reconnect its nanopatterns.

‘I need my lab’, Shuri said.

‘Allow me to help.’ Doctor Strange replied, and he conjured up one of his yellow sparkly rings and they all stepped through it, instantly in the warm, musky night air of Wakanda.

‘This is much better than flying!’ Shuri exclaimed in her strong accent.

She worked for almost two hours, Peter by her side, in awe of the technology there and of her sharp skills, asking a myriad of questions which she always happily answered, the two of them not bothering to slow down for the others who were far from following anything they were saying.

It took them a long time to figure out exactly how, but Mr. Stark had found a way for the nanolattices of his suit to shrink freaking gamma rays into the Quantum realm, making them simply vanish from our world. Peter was in shock. He knew how much of a genius the man was, but _this_ and _time travel_? This was mind-blowing.

‘But—where do they actually go? Aren’t they altering matter elsewhere anyway?’

—

From https://www.thepunctuationguide.com/em-dash.html  
© 2020 thepunctuationguide.cWhere do they actually go? Aren’t they altering matter elsewhere anyway?’

‘Yes. But that is the point. _Elsewhere_, not here’, she answered.

‘So… that means the damage is just transferred…’

‘… into another dimension. Yes.’

Peter didn’t lose the frown on his face.

‘At random?’

‘At random.’

‘But what if… what if it _kills_ someone there?’

‘Good point. I guess Stark didn’t give that much thought about that’, she shrugged.

It was a mistake to have stripped Mr. Stark off his suit. It was the _suit_ which had reduced the radiation already. It was the _suit_ that could save him now. But if it meant sending deadly radiations to another dimension…

‘I can make sure the radiation goes where no one would be harmed.’ Doctor Strange suddenly spoke, making both of them start. Peter had thought the others had all stopped listening for a long time. He didn't even ask why by this point, having already witnessed enough inexplicable magic from the Doctor.

'But... what about his body... the damage has been done, right?' Peter asked.

'Some damage will be permanent, yes, but we can stop the remaining radiation and therefore the subatomic alteration process that is killing him now. I just need a little time to rebuild that suit.’ Shuri replied.

‘How long? We don’t have much time, remember?’ Rhodey said.

‘An hour should do.’

* * *

‘There is _no way_ you can just put the suit back onto his body like that. I don’t think you realize how _severe_ his injuries are.’

‘I can help with that’, Doctor Strange said. ‘make it smooth and harmless.’

The head surgeon looked at him, disbelief still in his eyes. Pepper Potts then walked out of the room.

‘What’s going on?’

‘We can save him!’ Peter blurted out before he could stop himself. She stared at him, gasping.

‘He needs his latest suit. He included a device in it that can send harmful radiations into another dimension', Doctor Strange explained. A few days ago—no, years— Peter would have scoffed at that. These were crazy times they were living in. Pepper Potts didn’t answer right away, in shock. Had he been in her place, he would probably have thought the man was telling him complete bullshit.

‘Okay. Go ahead, I trust you', she said instead.

Doctor Strange strode in, followed by the head surgeon. Shuri didn’t move and Rhodey put a hand on Peter’s chest to stop him from following them.

‘We don’t need to be there. Give them some space.’

‘Sorry’, he mumbled.

‘Don’t be. If this works, kid… Hey look at me. If _this_ _works_…’ Rhodey was pointing at him, balancing his finger, but couldn’t finish, a lump in his throat and he took his hand instead, lifting it between their chests and squeezing it hard. Peter was equally too emotional to say anything. Shuri was asked inside a few minutes later, and they were left alone together. Peter heard a few words from inside the room and focused on them, and he could now even hear the beeping of the cardiac monitoring - '...low blood pressure; not that fast; careful; exactly; I doubt it; vital organs; oh God; kill him' - but then Rhodey took his arm and they went back to the same waiting room as before, with Cap, Falcon and Hawkeye, and Ant-Man and the Wasp who had not received any answer from Henry Pym yet.

The two-hour wait was unbearable. Cap threw him worried looks but didn’t say anything; he knew he couldn’t rest.

When Pepper Potts walked in, tears streaming down her face, her eyes were looking for someone. Rhodey tapped Hawkeye’s shoulder to wake him up. When she saw Peter, her search ended – she was looking for _him_ – and Peter stood up with wobbly legs, unable to look away, not noticing Shuri with a smile behind her. Mr. Stark's wife strode towards him, her face scrunched up in emotion, and she locked him in a tight embrace, his nose suddenly covered by her blond hair and full of her perfume.

‘Thank you. _Thank you._ God, he was _right_. He was right about you.’

He remembered her voice during the battle._ 'Hang on, I gotta you, kid.'_

‘He’s okay?’ Peter asked in a high voice.

‘He’ll live. Thanks to _you_.’

She let go of him and grabbed his face, smiling both with her mouth and eyes, before dropping her hands and turning to the others, wiping her eyes and cheeks and sniffing, quickly regaining her composure. She looked regal, Peter thought.

‘He’s still badly injured, but stable. The radiation is quickly receding. He needs more surgery; at least four. He- his right arm has been severely damaged... but he’ll be okay.... for now. He will most likely develop leukemia as a result. Shuri… Shuri said that maybe his discovery could lead to a cure… something with atoms being altered… I’m sorry I didn’t get everything you told me.’ Her voice was still shaky.

Shuri just smiled.

‘Is he awake?’ Cap asked.

‘No. He’s in an induced coma, will be for a while.’

Cap nodded.

‘Can I see him?’ Peter asked, instantly regretting his words. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, no. It’s okay, really. Of– of course you can’, Pepper replied, strangely stammering all of a sudden and avoiding his gaze.

‘Right now?’

She nodded, looking down.

Before he reached the door of the waiting room, Cap walked towards him. ‘I’m coming with you.’ Peter glanced back at Rhodey and Hawkeye, who hadn’t stood up and who just nodded him on, smiling.

As they were reaching the door beyond which Mr. Stark was, Cap stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. Peter glanced up at him, surprised.

‘Nice work, Queens.’

Peter looked down, unable to hold his intimidating gaze.

'I—I didn't do much. Shuri was the one who...' An extended hand appeared below his face. He took it and Cap put his other hand above his, squeezing. ‘Thank you’, he simply said, holding his hand.

It was the last words he ever said to Peter.

They entered the room, Cap first, and the sight of Mr. Stark’s limp body hooked up to several machines was a gut punch. He looked so vulnerable, so small now, and Peter remembered the look on his teary face after their long and tight hug. His skin was covered in bandages on his right hand and arm and shoulder, right up to his neck and the right side of his face. He looked peaceful, his chest slowly rising and falling.

Tony Stark, who had saved the entire universe, was the one being saved now. He was alive. Thanos was gone. They had survived this.

He didn’t know why but he burst into tears. Cap was taken aback but then moved and hugged him, holding him tight and running circles over his back when the sobbing didn’t stop. He was breaking down against Captain America’s hard pecks, and vaguely thought _yeah… I’m definitely not straight_, and his sobbing turned into weak laughter. Cap didn’t say anything. He let go of him when he saw the crying had stopped, and turned silently towards his friend, watching him, his back straight, a solemn look on his face. Peter wanted to go over to Mr. Stark and take his hand, talk to him, run his fingers through his hair, but he stopped himself. That would look… weird.

When Captain Rogers finally turned around again, he looked at Peter and smiled before walking out. Peter hesitated for a moment gazing at his idol’s still figure one last time, before following him out. The waiting room was now empty. He collapsed on one of the couches and was fast asleep in seconds.

* * *

He went home the following morning. What else was there to do? He had to see May. When he reached the tarmac, Happy was coming out of a jet with a little girl. When he saw him, the big man clumsily ran over to him and without any warning proceeded to bear-hug him, knocking the air out of his lungs, Peter thanking his super strength for not falling hard on his back from the force of it. Happy let go as quickly as he had thrown himself at him and tried to speak, all the while shaking his head.

‘You… you… you are… a _headache_, you know that?’

And he hugged him again, longer this time. _A headache?_

Something tugged at the shirt he was now wearing. He looked down and saw the little girl looking up at him.

‘Are you Peter?’

‘Hey! Yeah, yes I am.’

‘Happy said you saved my daddy.’

Peter nearly fainted right there and then. He might be having a heart attack. Happy caught his shoulder, steadying him.

‘This is Morgan.’

‘Hi!’ he managed.

'Hello', she replied shyly in her tiny voice. 'Thank you for saving daddy, that’s very nice', she went on, fidgeting adorably.

‘It wasn't just me, but many people’, he croaked.

‘Come on, champ, jet’s waiting for you.’ Happy said, taking the little girl’s hand back into his, walking away with her. ‘I’ll keep you updated!’, he called out. The child turned around to look at him again, smiling shyly, and waved at him. Peter waved back, not feeling his own arm. His legs were shaking. He faintly heard her ask Happy: ‘Is he okay?’

When he reached the jet stairs he had to steady himself by grabbing the railing. He then laughed, breathing in and out shakily, eyebrows lifted high by a strong wave of mingling emotions—joy and disbelief and something like longing. Mr. Stark had a kid. Mr. Stark was a _father_. And now that he thought about it, the little girl had _looked _like him. She had dark brown hair and eyes that looked just like his. She had seemed smart and a little bit mischievous and was so cute he'd nearly melted on the spot. He entered the pilotless jet with a big smile on his face, and chose to ignore the tears that were streaming down his face.


	17. Blipped

_‘It has been a crazy day for everybody. I have no words for the joy, the shock and yes, the anguish that you may be feeling right now. For so many of us, this is a dream come true. For others, maybe for _you_, this is a nightmare, because the world you left in 2018 is not the one you came back to. Yes, it’s been five years. _Five years_. We’re in the year _2023_ now. If you are one of those we called the Vanished, you’re most likely in shock, lost, disoriented. Please, if you’re alone, seek help right now. Talk to fellow citizens, borrow a phone, find a police station, a public library, a bar, any place where you can call the number you can see right now and talk, go to our government website and register right away so that your family can find you. That’s it, talk and get help. Don’t go through this alone.’_

Peter stared at the TV screen, May’s fingers interlaced with his. Donald Trump hadn’t been snapped, and he had been re-elected in 2020. May refused to listen to anything he had to say, and so they were listening to Canada’s Prime Minister Julie Payette instead. After her speech, May switched the channel to CBS and Peter was stunned to see a much older Stephen Colbert appear on screen.

_‘For every single one of us, whether your story ends in tears of joy or in tragedy, this goes beyond what we, human beings, can understand, and that’s why we must stick together. As a species, as human beings, we must protect one another. Let’s face it, this reverse snap won’t be rationally explained; just like the cataclysm that fell upon the entire universe five years ago will never be fully comprehended. But _this_, this has finally been resolved, and it’s over. Thanos is dead. It’s over. Whether it be science beyond our comprehension or God or deities, it doesn’t matter. _This is over_. What matters now is that the chaos we’ve been living in for the past five years is gone. Yes, we’ve lost a lot.' _The late night host choked up, bringing his fist against his mouth, before going on in a shaky voice._ 'Yes, some will never be brought back. Those who lost their lives after the snap will always be missed. But the Vanished are back, they’re here, they’re everywhere, they’re maybe looking for _you_ right now and they _need_ you, they need _all_ of us and _we_ need _them_. We _all_ need each other. We need to heal, together.’_

On every single channel the same banner with the same hotlines and government websites slid by uninterrupted at the bottom of the screen. Peter saw a suicide hotline and gulped. They caught the first detailed report on CNN shortly after the re-run of Stephen Colbert’s teary monologue from the previous night.

_‘We have received many contradictory reports on what exactly took place last night in Upstate New York, but they all point to a massive battle between a hostile extraterrestrial army led by Thanos, and the Avengers. The U.S Department of Defense released a statement half an hour ago confirming those reports, as well as Thanos’s death. Many details are still missing, but what we do know for sure at this point is that the reverse snap occurred at exactly 6:32pm Eastern Standard Time, so before the end of the battle which abruptly came to a close at 7:35. Many eyewitnesses reported having clearly seen the entire enemy army being blipped out of existence, which points to the use of the Gauntlet either by one of the Avengers or by an unknown ally. Joining us from the outskirts of the battlefield is our very own Senior Correspondent Anderson Cooper. Anderson, what more can you tell us?'_

_‘Hey, Poppy. Well, this is insane. I mean, this is a scene right from a sci-fi movie. I’m currently standing outside the now obliterated Avengers compound in Upstate New York near Owasco Lake where the battle of the century took place last night. It’s impossible to come any closer due to high radiations and the area has been closed by government officials, but even from a distance you can get a clear sense of the sheer violence that occurred there only a few hours ago. The forest that used to stand there is literally gone. There’s nothing left but rubble and dirt as you can see. Even Owasco Lake itself now bears a huge scar of the battle and lost more than a quarter of its water. I’ve met with several eyewitnesses that gathered outside Fleming, the nearest town to the now destroyed Avengers’ compound and all of them talked of a sudden deafening blast at around 6:40, the ground literally shaking beneath their feet, and a huge spacecraft could be seen from dozens of miles away a few minutes later. Families took shelter in their basements, but some daredevils grabbed their binoculars and climbed up a hill to watch what was going on. They all described a massive battle between the Avengers and various alien species, including the Chitauri worm-like creatures that invaded New York back in 2012. At one point towards the end of the battle, a fireball coming from the sky destroyed the entire spaceship by itself. Was it help coming from a friendly alien civilization? I guess we’ll have to wait to find out. Either way, I can’t wait for you to hear some of the witness accounts first-hand. This is absolutely crazy.’_

_‘Have you been in contact with any of the Avengers yet?’_

_‘Yes, but the only thing I can tell you right now is that they’ll be announcing a press conference very soon.’ _

_‘Is Tony Stark alive?’_

Peter cringed.

_‘You’ll have to wait for the press conference, Poppy.’_

_‘Do you personally know if he’s alive?’_

_‘I– I don’t.’_

_‘There have been rumors that he sacrificed his own life using the Gauntlet.’ _

_‘I am not at liberty to reveal any information about that yet.’_

They spent the entire day watching TV while eating pizza in the small one-bedroom apartment of May’s ex-boyfriend Gary, who had accepted to take her in after she had popped back in their now former apartment, making a poor woman scream out of her lungs. They would stay at his place until they found a new apartment – again. Gary had gone to work early in the morning even though this was one of the craziest days in History, and Peter could have bet this was because he was scared of hanging out with a couple of ghosts.

_‘And then there was this huge ball of light, like, falling from the sky towards the giant ship and it flew right past it and it exploded, and then it flew right back through it skyward, vrroooosh! And then it crashed. It caused an earthquake all of the way up here, I kid you not. And then the fighting went on and then it stopped, just like that. Like, all of a sudden. The aliens were all blipped.’_

_‘How do you know they were disintegrated?’_

_‘Cause we saw it!’_

_‘Through your binoculars.’_

_‘That’s right, Ma’am. I saw a huge one vanish with my own eyes. A huge monster. And we all thought it was another – another snap, you know? And we all froze and looked at each other – we were terrified, you know? But then Scott over here said only the aliens had vanished, and we had another look and sure enough, we could only see the humans now, including the giant, no aliens anymore; and so we understood it was over; we’d won, the Avengers had won.’_

The press conference happened later that day. Rhodey was the one who spoke on behalf of all of them.

_‘It is thanks to the pioneering work of Tony Stark in Quantum physics that we succeeded in acquiring the Infinity Stones and in bringing the Vanished back, Dr. Bruce Banner volunteering to take the hit of the substantial amount of gamma radiation the use of the Gauntlet inevitably releases. Nevertheless, our efforts to pick up the Stones from other dimensions led to the return of Thanos and the battle which you know took place outside of Fleming, in Upstate New York. Thanos brought a great number of troops with him to try and take hold of the Gauntlet again, this time to murder all free sentient beings in the universe and not just half of us as he did five years ago. If it weren’t for the last-minute sacrifice of Tony Stark, Thanos would have succeeded. Tony grabbed the Gauntlet himself and he did it. He snapped his fingers and made Thanos’s entire army vanish at once.’ _Journalists were shouting now_. ‘He is alive, yes! He is alive. He was able to reduce the effects of gamma radiation on his body thanks to his suit. I – Please, I cannot explain how but what I do know is that he is now in stable but critical condition due to severe internal injuries inflicted by the radiation and will likely develop leukemia as a result.’ _Rhodey almost had to shout again._ ‘Tony had prepared for this. He’d thankfully left some notes that Wakandan Head of Science Shuri was able to use to help him.’ _He didn’t mention me, Peter thought, cringing._ ‘But without the help of his genius protégé and new member of the Avengers Spider-Man, those scientific notes that were crucial to his survival would have remained undecipherable. At this hour, head surgeon Dr. Allbright remains quite optimistic as to his immediate chances of survival, although the amount of long-term damage is still to be determined.’_

His _genius protégé…_ May had squeezed his hand hard, but he had felt embarrassed. He wasn’t a genius, he was just a nerd who found physics fascinating and who’d read everything he’d found on nanoarchitecture since that day in Mr. Stark’s lab. Shuri was the genius there.

Rhodey went on for a couple of minutes, announcing Natasha Romanoff’s death but keeping everything pretty vague even when journalists started asking him questions. Peter understood why. Breaking the news that time travel was real now was probably a bad idea, to say the least. Instead, Rhodey talked of other dimensions and of the Quantum realm, and that was more than enough.

Accounts after accounts of people who had been snapped kept coming up on every news channel. Peter turned the TV off when May started sobbing after hearing about a mother who had come back only to learn that her two kids had been run over by a suddenly driverless car five years ago. She had been walking them to kindergarten when she’d been snapped. Those weren’t brought back. Peter understood the emphasis every anchor put on suicide prevention better after that. He thought about Ned whom he’d had on the phone after having visited the government website listing the Vanished and the people who were looking for them. Ned had sounded quite shaken. He had told Peter he wasn’t okay because his mom wasn’t. She was a single mom and she had lost her only son, had mourned him for five years, and now he was back. Of course she had screamed out of joy, but then had completely broke down and was still in a state of shock, not being able to let go of him at all, holding on to her son as if he could vanish again at any time, and Ned told him he had to stay with her, which Peter completely understood. ‘I’ll see you at school, love you bro’, he’d told him.

‘We need a break, May… stay away from the news for a while.’

‘Yeah’, she whimpered, still sobbing into a handkerchief. He held her close.

‘We’re both okay and that’s all that matters now, okay?’

‘Oh yes, honey, that’s all that matters.’

Thank god May hadn’t been snapped. She was shocked enough as it was and he couldn’t fathom what she would’ve been like had she mourned him for five years.

They tried to stop thinking about it and played some Scrabble until Gary came back from work, white as a sheet. He told them, still avoiding their eyes, that one of his old co-workers had come back only to commit suicide by jumping out a window on the 34th floor when he learned that his wife had killed herself four years ago. Peter was speechless, and May started crying again.

‘Did you see anything while you were…?’, Gary suddenly asked when they were eating another pizza together at the kitchen counter.

‘What?’

‘There was a woman on the news who was pissed off because she said she was torn from heaven.’

‘Yeah… because people on TV never lie.’

‘But did you? See anything…’

‘I don’t even remember any of it.’ May slowly replied. ‘Do you?’

_The weird bubbling in my veins… the terror… Mr. Stark… that painting…_

‘No, I don’t. I don’t think anyone remembers any of it’, Peter lied.

‘It happened yesterday, not five years ago. It was yesterday for us!’ May repeated, still overwhelmed.

‘I – I still can’t believe it either… We… the survivors… we went through a lot, you know… there was a lot of… a lot of suicides… like Paul’s wife… people losing their entire family… their kids… and then they’re back and now they’re the ones missing loved ones, missing a home like you guys… I mean…it’s crazy...’

_Romeo and Juliet_ on a global scale, Peter mused.

‘Thank God for the Avengers…’, Gary went on. ‘I must admit I was never a fan of Tony Stark to begin with, but now… fuck…’, May threw him a glare. ‘Sorry. Have you seen the murals? The shrines? He’s pretty much a god all over the world now. People praying for him and stuff, comparing him to Jesus… I hope he makes it.’

His aunt let out a heavy sigh before cheerfully saying a little too loudly: ‘Who wants some more pizza?’

* * *

That night, when he was lying next to May on Gary’s fold down couch, he couldn’t get any sleep despite his state of utter exhaustion. When he first tried to lie on his back, he almost had a panic attack, the orange sky reappearing against his closed eyelids. He then turned onto his stomach, but vividly felt Mr. Stark’s tight embrace again and so turned onto his right side. Mr. Stark’s sleeping face on the alien ship and then his unconscious face partially hidden by an oxygen mask were all he could think about. He ended up on the toilet, panting and trying not to break down. He spent the night on his phone in the bathroom, listening to more accounts from all over the world, feeling better after having seen dozens of people crying tears of joy and thanking the Avengers. Spider-Man’s name came up many times, and he even found a website dedicated to the mysterious Queens vigilante that presented him as the future Tony Stark and his genius protégé. He collapsed in front of the TV the next morning, and when he woke up May informed him that he had slept for more than 12 hours. He felt just as exhausted as before.

The next night, he gulped down one of Gary’s sleeping pills but it had no effect whatsoever on his body. Inevitably, he repeated the previous night, lying on his stomach next to May, then on his side, then on the other and back on his stomach, still unable to stop his mind from roaming towards dangerous territory. He fell asleep on the floor, sitting against the couch. He couldn’t get to sleep lying down.

He didn’t remember any of his dreams until the first day of school after Spring Break, April 30, 2023. The snap had happened on March 6, 2018, and Peter learned it was now a national holiday dedicated to collective mourning. It was all so surreal. He also came to realize the word ‘snap’ was taboo, just like the word Voldemort in the Harry Potter books, and everybody said ‘blip’ instead, like that guy in Fleming, and it sounded so silly to him. Stephen Colbert had said ‘snap’ not ‘blip’ though, and that anchorwoman too. Had they been brave, bold or edgy in doing so? When he spotted Ned in a sea of students he didn’t recognize, relief and joy washed over him and they did their little bro handshake before hugging each other tightly, both overcome with emotion. How lucky that they’d both been snapped! – or _blipped_.

They were reunited with classmates like them, including MJ, and Peter was so happy to see her he stuttered like an idiot when she commented on his having missed the last day of school right before the blip.

‘Yeah, I was… the tummy…’

‘Do you have Crohn’s disease?’

‘What?’

She frowned at him and just said ‘nothing’ before walking away.

He was stunned to find out about a minority of Thanos supporters – and Tony Stark haters – who weren’t happy about the reverse snap at all, preferring the chaos of the five-year gap, advocating the drastically reduced population and its beneficial effects on the environment and citing better job opportunities. The ungrateful little fucks, Peter thought, and he almost punched a kid who called Mr. Stark Tony Stank, before Ned told him he was a blipped kid who’d lost both his parents in a plane crash after the snap.

In a nutshell, the world was a _mess_.

Peter fell asleep in front of the TV around 10pm, May having joined Gary in his bedroom. He tried his best not to hear what was going on there and turned the volume up when he caught an enthralling and quite heated debate on MSNBC. Unsurprisingly, scientists were freaking out.

_‘You can’t possibly give up your right as a free citizen to be informed of the latest scientific discoveries! You can’t just be kept in the dark like that, when it is clear that Stark Industries detain crucial, ground-breaking scientific facts in so many different fields such as aerospace engineering, theoretical physics, astrophysics and astrobiology!’_

_‘This is more complex than that. And with all due respect –‘_

_‘Are we not in a democracy, sir? Are we not in a democracy?’_

_‘Are you denying that Tony Stark is the reason we’re still breathing right now?’_

_‘This is not about what happened last Tuesday, this is about science – about international cooperation and the global advancement of mankind.’_

_‘Choosing to ignore that fact is –‘_

_‘I am not ignoring it, sir, I am telling you this is an excuse; an excuse for a private company to withhold crucial information that should be in the public domain.’_

_‘Well I believe this belongs to the realm of classified information. This is obviously very sensitive data that should remain protected and therefore away from the public eye.’_

_‘Do I have to remind you that Mr. Anthony Stark has no direct hands in the United States government? Again, this is a private company we’re talking about.’_

_‘A private company who’s been collecting multiplied security clearances from Congress over the past decade and for good reason.’_

_‘In order to protect American citizens and the entire Earth, yes! But not to withhold breakthroughs in physics and engineering! The Freedom of Information Act leaves no–’_

_‘This debate has already proven stale. In 2011, Congress issued–’_

_‘I am well aware of Congress’s habit of bending before multibillion-dollar companies, thank you very much.’_

The old Republican Senator huffed, then full-on chuckled. The woman scientist was pissed. Peter was totally on her side, even if it meant being against Mr. Stark. The memory of their heated but quickly aborted exchange on the matter made him flick to another channel.

He saw a news report about the new Iron Man frenzy. It made his heart flutter in his chest. People were painting murals of Tony Stark all over the world, paying tribute to the injured ‘Savior of Humanity’. What about other civilizations? Peter thought, remembering the Insect Lady and the big blue guy. He had saved them too. There were even shrines dedicated to him and to the fallen Avengers just like Gary had told them, complete with candles, flowers and praying circles. Mr. Stark especially was basically deified. Right afterwards he watched a documentary about the surge of religion and superstition during the five-year gap. People believed in anything now. Polytheism was back on a large scale, people offering things to various Gods, including Jesus who was often just thrown in the mix beside Thor or Apollo. He didn’t realize he was slowly sliding down onto the couch and before he knew it, he was on his back, quickly falling asleep.

The nightmare was short but violent, more violent than he’d thought nightmares could even be.

Mr. Stark was close to him but Peter couldn’t see him. There was just a vast expanse of orange as far as he could see. He was trying to walk to him, to get back to him, but his feet wouldn’t let him. They couldn’t move any faster, as if he were advancing in water. And then he saw something in the distance. He had to narrow his eyes to make out what it was – it was so far away: a melting clock, just like those in the painting. He felt sick. He looked down. He had no feet. His thighs were there, his knees too, but below that there was just nothing. He couldn’t breathe.

‘Mr. Stark!’ he cried out. ‘Wait! Wait for me!’ he shouted. ‘Wait! Please! Please, wait!’ he was yelling now. _‘Tony!’_

He saw him then, right in front of him, slowly turning around. His eyes were so scared.

‘Pete? You’re alright. Let go, I’m gonna catch you.’

He fell over and missed him, falling flat onto his arms and chest before he could grab his mentor’s body. He met dry, solid dirt, and his vision went foggy with dust. _Dust_. His mouth was full of it. White terror flooded his mind and he_ screamed_, thrashing about, completely delirious, trying to escape death.

He woke up to the sound of May yelling his name. He was on the floor in Gary’s living room and it looked like it had been ransacked. The couch was upside down, the coffee table had been smashed apart and a lamp had been shattered. He had no time to move before he threw up all over the floor, narrowly missing May’s bare feet. He understood later on that she had had a hard time keeping Gary from trying to pin him down, knowing full well that his super strength could’ve actually killed him, and the poor man was genuinely hurt and angry since he couldn’t understand her reaction. It took them at least ten minutes to convince him Peter wasn’t injured and they offered to pay for the lamp and table.

The next morning, May signed him in for therapy sessions with a psychiatrist specialized in PTSD, but the shortest wait time she could find in New York City was eight months.

‘Come on, May, I’m_ fine_, could you please just relax?’

‘No, you are _not_ fine, Peter. You need help from a specialist. I’m calling him now.’

‘What? No! Come on May, _please_, this was just a nightmare, I’m totally okay now!’ He didn’t mean to shout but he did.

‘Peter Benjamin Parker, you do _not_ have a say in this. You _will_ go to therapy because you _need_ it, end of story!’

He retreated to the bathroom, the only place where he could get some privacy in there, and waited for her to be done with that embarrassing call. It lasted for ages.

‘Happy knows someone who can help and Stark Industries will pay for it’, she reported with a smug smile.

‘Great…’

It had been more than five days now, and he’d still had no news from Happy.

‘Did he– did you talk about anything else?’

‘Uh, no, why do you ask?’ She replied with a strange little laugh. She was definitely lying.

May found a new apartment for them two days later. It was much smaller and noisier than the previous one but Peter didn’t care. He was just glad to have his own room again even if there were serious downsides. He couldn’t allow his mind to go bananas again, but it was much harder when he found himself alone at night in the dark. And so he never turned his bedside lamp off and began to read everything he could find on Quantum physics, trying to figure out how Mr. Stark had invented time travel, reading obsessively every night until early in the morning. After a week of three-hour night’s sleep and tiny meals, he actually passed out in a school toilet. It turned out even Spider-Man had his limits. Thank God he was alone then.

He couldn’t properly eat, he couldn’t properly sleep. He waited and waited for a text from Happy. It had been two weeks now. I’ll keep you updated, my ass.

He had his first appointment with Dr. Szafran – Susan – on a Saturday. He didn’t have to go anywhere; instead, the psychiatrist visited him home while May respectfully went out with ‘a friend’. She was a nice, soft-spoken woman in her sixties, elegant and a little stern-looking but with a sort of grandma vibe that made it surprisingly easy for Peter to tell her everything that had happened to him after his field trip to MoMA five years ago. They talked about Dali’s painting a lot, Susan insisting that he describe it in full details, and it hurt to do so but he managed to do it anyway, feeling drained when he was done. He refused to see it again, though. ‘Too soon’, Susan said. She made him promise he would join marching band again and insisted he sign in for the school trip to Europe in mid-June Ned had told him about. She asked him only one question about Mr. Stark, right at the end of their session after an oppressive minute of silence, Peter waiting for her to finish scribbling in her little notepad. When she was done, she waited a few more seconds to speak.

‘Do you want to tell me about Mr. Stark?’

‘Uh, no, sorry… I– I don’t want to right now.’

And that had been it. She scheduled another appointment three weeks later, telling him she was very busy.

On the seventeenth day after the battle, he finally got a text from Happy.

From Happy, 1:12pm: **Tony woke up this morning. He lost a lung and a kidney, still needs multiple surgeries to fix his liver, can’t feel his right arm, but he talked and even cracked a joke. Pain was too bad so they put him back into a coma. Amputation is being discussed right now. How are you?**

To Happy, 1:18pm: **Thank you so much for the news. I’m good. Amputation of his right arm?**

It was obvious but Peter needed it to be said clearly.

From Happy, 1:19pm: **Yes.**

_He’s in excruciating pain. He’ll lose an arm._

He was in the school cafeteria then, so he buried his face into his arms on the table to cry. Ned put his arm around his shoulder and rested his head against his, earning them a comment from Flash.

‘Oh look at them! They’re so beautiful.’

‘Shut the fuck up you fucking homophobe!’ a girl spat really loudly. Peter’s head shot up. He didn’t know her.

‘Wow’, Flash just said. ‘How was I being homophobic?’

‘I said _shut the fuck up_’, the girl slowly articulated. This was so sudden and so aggressive he actually felt sorry for Flash. ‘Unless you want me to knock your teeth out, fucker.’

‘Wow, okay, okay, cool!’

They later found out her name was Emily. She had been on edge ever since the reverse snap but they failed to dig up any other details about her life. They saw her again that day after class, sitting on the front steps, staring blindly at a little bird hopping on some grass. Peter wanted to give her a hug.

Days and nights went by without any other news from Happy. He felt the urge to send another text asking when he could see Mr. Stark, but stopped himself. He wasn’t family. This was inappropriate. He would see him eventually. He would wait for an invite from them.

He resumed his daily patrols and extended them way past midnight, before going back to his room, exhausted, and reading until 4am. He stopped an armed robber who turned out to be a mother of two now jobless after the reverse snap. She started crying while they waited together for the police to take her in and Peter felt like the true criminal there. On a lukewarm, rainy night he caught a suicidal man who had thrown himself from a rooftop on Queens Boulevard. The man was in shock and not grateful at all. Peter had to restrain him and drag him to the hospital and he left him there, convinced that he would do it again.

He would fall asleep at his desk or sitting on his bed against a couple of pillows, a book, notebook or laptop in his lap, and was actually able to doze off lying on his side twice after long, tiring patrols, but he still couldn’t sleep on his back or face down. One night however, he forgot and ended up on his back again. The nightmare started as a dream before abruptly morphing into exactly the same night terror he’d had at Gary’s. He broke his bed and his closet before waking up, the neighbors actually calling the cops because of the racket he’d made. He missed school the next day, and woke up a little before noon on his stomach. He was painfully hard. He finally surrendered to the sensation, relief and despair tragically mingling in his love-sick brain.

Silence. Unbearable silence. Had they forgotten about him?

On May 22 he finally received a text, but it wasn’t from Happy. His heart skipped a beat.

From Unknown, 7:48pm: **Thank you so much for what you did. Tony can be proud. I’m sorry I couldn’t thank you in person. I had to be alone for a while. – Wanda**

He couldn’t stop himself.

To Unknown, 7:49pm: **Did you see him?**

From Unknown, 7:50pm: **Many times. He can talk but he’s very weak. Captain Marvel knows an alien species that may help him.**

To Unknown, 7:54pm: **Captain Marvel?**

From Unknown, 7:58pm: **Yes, Carol Danvers. She’s the one who blew up Thanos’s ship.**

Peter had completely forgotten about the strong, beautiful blonde who had said his name. Was she _human_?

To Unknown, 8:00pm: **Help how?**

From Unknown, 9:55pm: **Ask him yourself, kid. I’m not so sure I’m allowed to talk about it with you.**

To Unknown, 9:56pm: **Okay, sorry.**

From Unknown, 9:58pm: **No problem, take care!**

To Unknown, 9:58pm: **thx, u too.**

_To talk about it with me… with me…_ why wouldn’t she be allowed to? Wasn’t he an Avenger too? And she had seen Mr. Stark. Many times. Was she even that close to him? Why could she see him and not him? Why didn’t Happy talk about those aliens that could help him? What did it mean? Why couldn’t he see him?

Maybe he just needed to ask. What an idiot he'd been, of course that was it!

To Happy, 10:12pm: **Hi happy, was wondering when I could visit Mr. Stark, just to say hello.**

He waited the entire night for a reply. It came _three days later_. Peter almost felt like his head was going to explode. He devoured eleven books during that span.

From Happy, 6:36pm: **He’s still weak, needs time to rest**

It was blunt, lacking punctuation at the end, unapologetic. It screamed _Forget it, kid_. And yet Wanda had seen him many times. Were they keeping something from him? Something to do with those aliens? Were they deliberately keeping him away from Mr. Stark? Where were Cap and Rhodey and Dr. Banner and Doctor Strange? Had everyone forgotten about him? He was an Avenger now, even Rhodey had said it to the entire world! Was it just because he was a kid? After everything he’d done? After everything they’d been through together?

_Mr. Stark is with his family and closest friends, friends he’s known for years, unlike you... Give him more time…_

After all, he had known Wanda for much longer than him. And how many times had he seen him? But what they’d been through… that hug… those eyes… that tear! Had he imagined it? Had he imagined it, the _bond_ between them? Had it all been in his head?

Another week went by and Peter was _hurt_; so bad he cried himself to sleep. His second therapy session was shorter. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. Susan eyed him with concern and repeated that fucking question: _Do you want to tell me about Mr. Stark?_ ‘I’m sorry, Susan, I’m not in the mood, today. Tired’, he told her.

Who had he thought he was? He’d been completely delusional. They had never been close. He still called him Mr. Stark for God’s sake! All the others called him Tony. He fumbled for his phone after another sleepless night.

To Wanda, 5:12am: **How’s Tony?**

From Wanda, 7:32am: **Getting better! He can walk now with some help! You haven’t seen him? Come over when you can! Just ask Happy!**

To Happy, 7:35am: **Hey Happy. I’m sorry to bother you again but I was wondering when I could come over. How is he? His arm?**

He couldn’t write _Tony_ in a text to Happy. He waited and waited. He felt nauseous.

From Happy, 10:13am: **Sorry kid, I’ve been busy. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Tony’s better but he lost his arm.**

Was nobody going to inform him he’d lost a fucking arm? Really?

Happy never got back to him. He never told him when he could come over. Instead, he received this.

From Unknown, 2:10pm: **Tony wants to thank you from the bottom of his heart. What you did saved his life and thanks to you, Morgan didn’t lose her father. We will never forget. – Pepper Stark**

Why did it hurt so much? Why did it not make him feel any better, but _worse_? It didn’t sound like Mr. Stark at all. And if he could talk, if he could walk right now, why couldn’t he text him himself? Why ask his _wife_ to do it? And why had they waited all this time to send him this? It even sounded like a goodbye, as if he would never see him again, as if it was their nice way of asking him to stay away. He stared at her name for a long time.

_Pepper Stark._

Mr. Stark didn’t want him in his life anymore. That was it. They were making it clear without being rude. Was it because Mr. Stark was traumatized? Maybe Peter reminded him of some of the worst moments of his life. Losing to Thanos, almost dying on the battlefield… Peter had been right there with him. Maybe he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing him again now, just like himself with that painting. Maybe he’d never want to see him again.

Peter began to panic, rambling thoughts attacking his broken heart. 

But _erase_ him like that from his life? He would never! He wouldn’t do that to him! _This is temporary. It’s only been a month, relax. Unless… unless what you thought was there was actually never there. He never truly cared about you, not really. Why would he? Who are you to him? Who are you compared to her, compared to Morgan, to his close friends?_

_What the hell did you think you were, you stupid hormonal teenager?_ he chided himself, tossing and turning in bed._ Nothing’s wrong with them, it’s you! You’re the one who convinced yourself you were more than a kid to him! You’re the one who ended up confusing your fucked-up fantasy with real life! You’re the one who started seeing things, imagining things, distorting reality to accommodate your twisted crush!_

_Crush…_

This wasn’t a crush.

He no longer dreamed of Tony Stark advancing menacingly towards him before grabbing his head and kissing him. He didn’t jerk off imagining the older man shoving his dick inside his mouth anymore. No, now he had _memories_. What his own eyes had seen, what his body had actually felt, what he had been through with his absolute idol, all those memories were hot fuel to his sick heart that distorted them in the dead of night. A shocked Mr. Stark above him as he was dying, eyes wet, repeating _I love you_, kissing him on the mouth and all over his face… Mr. Stark’s soft eyes seeing him for the first time after five years, slowly stepping over to him, hugging him tight, so tight, for so long, before finally whispering a broken _I love you_ in his ear… Mr. Stark’s tight hug turning into a passionate embrace, a passionate kiss, a passionate —

_Yes._ Yes, for the first time in his life, he allowed himself to think about that. To think about that with something other than immediate disgust and shame and fear. His vulnerable and desperate state made him finally break through the taboo in his mind and it was like a revelation. He wanted him to do that to him, wanted him to lie on top of him, to pant in his ear, to push his tongue deep inside his mouth, to rock his hips back and forth against him, _inside_ him, yes, yes, _inside of him_. He wanted him to _make love_ to him.

He had always scoffed at people using that phrase, _making love_. Now, that was all he could think about and it was _deadly serious_.

He came moaning ‘Tony’, the name escaping his lips too loudly. May’s room was on the other side of the apartment, but he had the eerie impression of being watched, his senses picking up some threat that clearly wasn’t there. When he had told May how his entire body had sensed the arrival of the giant doughnut five years ago, she had nicknamed this power his _Peter tingle_. ‘Shut up, Peter tingle,’ he whispered to his empty bedroom. He stood up and stepped towards his window, peeking between the blinds, but of course there was nothing even remotely threatening outside. He was losing it.

This wasn’t a crush. This wasn’t just lust. This was _Love_. Hot, burning, _obsessive, hopeless_ love. It hurt too much. He couldn’t sleep. He either thought about dying or about a father in his fifties fucking him. He wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay at all. He needed help.

‘I need help’, he sobbed into his phone at 1am.

‘Peter? Peter! Where are you? What’s happening?’ Ned’s voice was instantly panicky.

‘In bed.’

‘Oh. Oh. Peter… I– it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay’, Ned repeated as he heard his best friend crying.

‘No. No, it’s not.’

‘You can tell me about it. You can tell me anything. I can come over. Right now if you want. Or you can tell me about it on the phone. Is it… is it the same one again?’

‘It’s not a nightmare’, he heaved, almost hiccupped. He didn’t even care. Ned seemed speechless for a moment.

‘What is it then?’ his friend asked, fear in his voice.

‘Me.’

‘What?’

‘I’m fucked up. I’m a sick person, Ned’, he sobbed, his voice going really high at the end in a way that turned Ned’s blood cold with dread. He’d seen the news reports of people suddenly freaking out and jumping off bridges or putting a bullet in their brains. Spider-Man or not, he couldn’t risk it.

‘That’s it, I’m coming over. I’ll be here in ten minutes. Don’t – don’t hang up, okay?’

‘Okay’, Peter simply replied. He needed him right now. He needed his big body cuddling him.

‘Wake May up, she won’t mind, okay?’

‘No. No, I don’t want to.’

‘Then stay with me. Hang on I’m putting the phone down to grab some clothes...’

When Ned slowly tiptoed through the front door Peter had left open for him, Peter went back to his room without a glance at him and his best friend followed him, a very worried look on his face. Peter carefully closed his door behind him and instantly broke down again, overwhelmed by shame and despair, nuzzling his face against his friend’s neck. Ned took him in his arms and they stayed like that for a while, before he slowly guided him towards his bed. They sat down together. Peter looked up and was shocked to see Ned was crying too.

‘I’m sorry, Ned’, he whispered.

‘Peter… you have to tell me everything… I can’t take this anymore… you not sleeping, not eating… this. You really, _really_ scared me tonight.’

‘I’m sorry’, Peter repeated.

‘Stop saying you’re sorry all the time!’, Ned whispered almost angrily. ‘It’s not your fault! You’re a hero! You’re an Avenger! What’s happening to you is totally normal! Don’t ever say you’re a sick person ever again, okay? That’s not true, you’re a _good_ person! It’s PTSD, it’s what _every_ soldier gets when they’ve been through tough shit like you. It’s hard but if you keep going to therapy, if you keep talking about it, it’ll get better.’

‘I’m in love with Mr. Stark.’

Ned froze.

‘I’m sorry... it’s not a crush, Ned. It won’t go away. I love him. I love him. _I love him_’, he repeated, sobbing again in Ned’s arms. ‘And he won’t – he just – he won’t even see me anymore. Everyone else saw him when he woke up. But Happy won’t let me see him.’

‘Whoo, whoo, whoo, hang on. He won’t see you or Happy won’t let you?’

‘If he wanted to see me, I’d be invited over.’

‘How d’you know he saw everyone else but you?’

Peter didn’t reply, because he didn’t really know.

‘Look, I’m sure there’s an explanation to this. Peter, he’s probably just resting, okay? And you were the one who figured out the equation that saved him, right?’

‘No. Everyone keeps saying that but Shuri did.’

‘No. You did it first and then Shuri figured out the rest.’

‘She did, like, 90% of the work.’

‘She couldn’t have done it without you, and the news said Spider-Man saved Iron Man, so...’

A few minutes went by in silence, Peter still holding on to his friend.

‘This is weird.’

‘Sorry’, Peter mumbled, quickly putting some distance between them.

‘No, no, no, not that… I mean… I think – I think Happy knows.’

‘What?’

‘Think about it, it makes sense! If I were them and knew about your crush, I’d keep you away just for your own sake. And didn’t you suspect them knowing about it already?’

Peter closed his eyes in pain.

‘Maybe… Yeah… that makes sense… but it’s not a crush, Ned. I can’t stop thinking about him. About what we went through together.’

‘Tell me about it.’

And Peter did. He told him everything. His friend occasionally stopped him, asking for more details, reacting to the crazy tale too loudly and Peter had to tell him to keep his voice down several times.

‘Hang on. Was this just in your head or not? I’m not following.’

‘I don’t know anymore.’

‘Peter, this is important.’

‘I – I remember it very clearly. But…’

‘So he really gave you a long hug right in the middle of a battle with _alien dogs_?’

‘I think so.’

‘Peter!’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know what’s real anymore. Maybe it was just a couple of seconds and my brain just… I don’t know…’

‘Are you sure you weren’t the one who hugged him first?’

‘Yes. Positive. 100%.’

‘Huh…’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘No, tell me!’

Ned sighed. ‘He isn’t inviting you over to see him like the other Avengers even if you’re the one who saved him... He doesn’t wanna see you and yet he hugged you like that in a very dangerous situation when you’re not supposed to let your guard down... I mean, you don’t just stop to give a friend a hug when there are aliens all around trying to literally murder you! He either took an insane risk or he just couldn’t control himself. Either way, that means he cares about you a great deal. And if he really did cry in your arms– Peter, if Iron Man really broke down when he saw you again, that means he really, _really_ cares about you. Or maybe he was just freaking out like some soldiers do when they’re too scared... But he’s _Iron Man_ and we all know he’s, like, the opposite of a coward, so…. Then again, even really brave people do freak out occasionally...’

Peter listened to his friend’s rambling feeling exhausted by hope. He didn’t have any energy left for it.

‘Maybe he can't see me because I’d remind him of traumatizing things…’

Ned thought about that.

‘That’s possible. But that would be super selfish. If that’s the case then he should _at least_ send you a message explaining everything.’

Another stretch of silence went by. Peter was sitting against the headboard and his pillow now.

‘You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met, you know that? The smartest one too’ Ned said. When Peter didn't respond, he added: ‘You said… when you were inside the giant doughnut… you said you talked a lot about physics.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Was it about the speed of light?’

‘Yeah.’

Ned seemed to think long and hard.

‘And he told you to keep talking? You said he even said _please_? And then he just listened to you, not saying anything back? And then he fell asleep after a while?’

‘Yeah... that's what I remember, why? What are you thinking?’

‘Nothing… I…’, his friend was hesitating, debating whether or not he should tell him. ‘Peter… Have you considered the possibility that… and I don’t wanna give you any ideas, but… because this… this is _wrong_, okay? But… have you thought about the possibility that maybe… he might feel the same way?’

Peter didn’t answer. He was about to fall asleep and this conversation was more exhausting than Titan. He couldn’t handle hope right now.

‘I don’t wanna think about it.’

‘Well think about it anyway. This would explain everything.’

‘He has a wife and a kid.’

‘Yeah… and he’s like _fifty_. That’s what scares me.’

‘Fifty-two’, Peter absent-mindedly corrected him. ‘Why would it explain everything?’

‘Think about it. You’re a fifty year-old dude. You’re married with a kid. You have a very inappropriate crush on your sixteen year-old intern, but you’re a _good person_. What do you do?’

Peter closed his eyes and sighed. ‘I fire him... keep him as far away from me as possible.’

‘Exactly.’

After five minutes of the silent digesting of this new hypothesis, Peter felt the need to say: ‘He would never hurt me.’

‘What about you?’

‘What?’

‘Would you? If you had the chance?’

‘Hurt him? What are you talking about?’

‘Ruin his life. His marriage, his reputation', Ned carefully whispered, tentatively meeting his eyes.

‘I’m tired. I wanna sleep now and anyway, this is bullshit, he doesn’t love me, and I don’t even know what you’re talking about anymore.’

‘If you had the chance to be with him, to– _you know_, would you do it?’

‘Ned, stop…’

‘I’m serious, Peter! If you knew he was in love with you. What would you do?’

‘That’s never gonna happen.’

‘Peter…This is super important…’

‘His wife is perfect, okay? And I’m just–’

‘A genius and a superhero. You're cute too, just saying...’

‘I’m not a genius.’

‘Yes, you are.’

‘No, I’m not. I just like reading a lot. Mr. Stark wouldn’t– he likes women… The rumour he’s bi is only because he experimented a lot when he was young... has been dating women ever since. Happy knows about my feelings and that’s all.... He told him, told his wife… So now they’re keeping me away so I can grow out of it. I wanna sleep now, thanks Ned… Stay here, I’ll take the couch.’

This sounded like the truth and it felt good to say it, just like he imagined a knife to the heart felt good for a man craving his own death. He swayed to his feet and Ned extended a hand to keep him from falling.

‘Peter, think about it... Imagine you’re the adult and one day you learn that a kid you’re kinda close to has feelings for you. What do you do? You just ignore him and never see him again? Like that?’

‘I don’t know. And we were never close.’

‘Oh come on! You sent each other texts every day.’

‘What?’

‘You weren’t exactly discreet about it.’

‘He didn’t– we didn’t… it was every _week_ not every day.’

‘You know how I knew? Because no one else could make you look that happy from just a text. Anyway, my point is, if you’re a normal, responsible adult, the first decent thing to do is to just speak to the kid, confront him about it, set things straight and… yeah… no pun intended, sorry… and yeah, maybe push him away, but not like that, not without a single word, especially after everything you've been through together!’

‘I don’t get what you’re trying to say…’

‘What I’m trying to say is… that whole thing there, those texts, their reaction, it’s all very weird. Something’s not right. This is definitely weird.’

_This isn’t just in my head._ Peter hid his face in his hands, feeling drugged.

‘Peter...’

‘Yeah.’

‘When you called me earlier... what did you mean when you said you needed help? Your voice... you really scared me...’

It took Peter some time to understand what he was talking about, but when he did, he spoke firmly.

‘I would _never_ do that to May. Or to you.’

‘But did you think about it?’

He couldn’t lie, but he couldn’t say yes.

‘I’ll never do it, I promise.’

* * *

‘This is too good. Oh my god, this is perfect. Are you 100% sure?’

‘Absolutely positive. I’m sending you the file right now if you wanna hear for yourself’, a voice chuckled.

‘No, I’m good, thank you, Janice’, the man chuckled himself, ‘_God_, this is not at all what I had in mind but this is _so freaking perfect_. Bill, get to work on Stark right away. Gutes, Janice, meet me in the conference room, I have _tons_ of ideas already but I need yours as well. I can’t believe it, this is _so good_! Let’s get to work, people!’

‘Right-on, Quentin!’

‘Boss, do you want the drone to stay there?’

‘No. We have what we need now. No unnecessary risks, remember?’

‘Copy that.’

‘See you in a bit, Quentin! Would you bring some Starbucks on your way here? I’m starving.’

‘Haha, cinnamon roll, is it Claire?’

‘If you please.’


	18. Far From Home

An orange sky, the setting sun, lifeless bodies all around, black spots everywhere - big black blots expanding from the edges inward. He tried to say it, say the word, but the pain was paralyzing. He couldn’t even groan.

_Shit, no time. _There was no time. There had been no time when the idea first occurred to him a few hours earlier. No time for complete demonstrations, and certainly not for any sort of testing. He’d had a hunch, and had added the last-minute feature to his suit in half an hour max while creating their own Gauntlet at the same time, naming it the Jesus protocol with a faint smirk. _If I end up needing it and it works, then I'm a motherfucking genius. _But he’d had no time to fully reprogram F.R.I.D.A.Y. He had to say the word out loud for her to initiate it. He couldn’t move. He heard a voice but it was very far away, as if he was hearing it from the bottom of a lake. It was Rhodey. He was right in front of him. Someone else was there too. He had to say the word. They had to understand or he was _dead_.

‘It’s Peter’, he heard.

His heart jumped, but all his body did was manage to turn his dying eyes towards the voice. Peter’s face was close to his, and he was touching him. He was speaking but Tony couldn’t understand a word he was saying. He just looked at him, trying to memorize his face, holding on to every detail still perceivable around the black spots. The boy was crying. _No, don't cry, Pete._ He was so beautiful. The effort to just look at him was too great, the pain too overwhelming, and so his eyes drifted away.

_No! No, look at him again!_ he ordered his own eyes, but he couldn’t move them.

Pepper was here now. Lifting his eyes to her felt like lifting a bus, but he had to, and he did it, smiling faintly when he saw her. _Peps… honey… my love..._ He couldn’t do that to her. He couldn't do that to Morgan. He couldn’t die. He had to say it. His entire being focused on that simple, little task: move his tongue up to his palate and articulate the word.

‘Jesus.’

Had he said it? When F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice weakly resonated around him, relief made him almost fall asleep, but he knew if he did, he may never wake up. The pain suddenly flowed away, as if a valve had opened in his body; in seconds, he couldn’t feel anything anymore. He was vaguely aware of something having hit him in the face and it felt good. _That’s gotta be bad._ His vision was almost completely black now. Was this the end? _No, please, not yet!_ _Let me get one more look at her! At him! Please save me, Peter… Pepper…_

* * *

He was lying on his back. Something heavy was pushing his chest down. It hurt. It hurt all over. It hurt too much. He was probably embarrassing himself crying out but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t hear anything though, except the throbbing of his own heart. It was loud in his ears, relentless, oppressive. He couldn’t escape the sound. He couldn’t move.

He was lying on a bed, but he wasn't home.

He was drifting outside a ship, feeling dizzy, spinning away in the vast expanse of space. He heard a voice. Thanos. His blood ran cold. _I hope they remember you. _

There were other voices now. He knew they were there but he couldn’t decipher them through the pain. He saw it, the pain. It was black water. Black waves like acid eating him from the inside. He was inside a giant pool of it trying to survive, trying to find Pepper and Morgan, but swimming through the pain, even _seeing_ or _hearing_ through it was just impossible. Was he still alive? Was he in hell right now? He had certainly deserved it if he was. Great way to shut his atheist ass for good.

No, he was on a hospital bed. They were trying to save him. The suit… _please, please, the suit_… Was he in it right now? He tried to emerge from the pain to check if he was but the black water didn’t have any surface. It hurt and hurt and hurt… It was hard to form any coherent thought.

Where was he? There was light. He felt drugged. He was lying on a bed. _Fuck_, he’d relapsed. Pepper would kill him. _Damn it!_ He couldn’t even move, _wow_. What a _stupid cunt_ he was. _Might as well just go back to sleep... will handle it tomorrow…_

Where was he? How old was he? Was he back in the Tower? Was this heroin or just a massive hangover?

What happened? What the hell happened? He couldn’t remember. He was lying on a bed. A hospital bed. He had an oxygen mask on. He felt heavy. His right side hurt all over. He tried to move. He heard a voice. Pepper.

‘Tony! Tony! Oh my love, don’t worry, you’re gonna be okay.’

_What the fuck?_ Had he almost _died_ for her to talk like that? _Ouch._ It fucking _hurt_. He’d had surgery, definitely. He didn’t open his eyes right away. There was too much light with his eyes closed already. He must've had a nasty fall. He thought about Rhodey. _Oh shit. Oh please, please, tell me I'm not paralyzed_. He opened his eyes but they closed right away of their own volition.

‘You saved everyone. You saved everyone, Tony. You were badly injured but you’re gonna be okay.’

Badly injured how? _How? Can’t you be more specific?!_ He couldn’t speak. Instead, he lifted his arms to grab her, make her understand he needed more than that. _Not paralyzed, please, please_. She touched his left hand and he realized it had barely left the bed. She was petting his hair.

‘Sleep my love. You need to rest.’ _‘But will you be able to rest?’_

It hit him like a train – the memory of everything. He heard some whimpering and some beeping go crazy and hurried footsteps before he lost consciousness again.

He dreamed of the Stones, of the Gauntlet, of Gods and Power he would never understand. He was being swallowed by the complete Unknown, by Knowledge outside of his human grasp. He was back in space, alone, lost in _Nothingness_ and the thought of Morgan and of that sweet little face he loved so much was the only thing keeping his mind from going batshit crazy from the sheer terror of it. He felt a hand reach out for him. It was the Blue Meanie. He was safe again. Dying, but safe.

When he woke up, his mind was much clearer. He was in pain, but it wasn’t horrible, just diffuse and uninterrupted. He initially couldn’t remember anything again, but Pepper was there and she reminded him of the battle in a calm, soothing voice. He listened to her, breathing slowly, still feeling drugged but this time being able to look at her.

‘Tony… your liver’s been saved… you’ll be able to have a normal life with only one lung and one kidney... your brain took a hit but it's okay now... this is wonderful news... but your arm… Tony, your right arm…’ His heart clenched and he felt bile in his tube-filled throat. ‘I’m so sorry… it’s okay… Oh, honey, I’m so sorry…’ Her hand was back in his hair and she was pressing her head against his.

_It’s okay_, he wanted to say. But he suddenly realized his face was wet. He abruptly coughed and coughed, choking on the tube. He had to throw up. Pepper shouted for help and someone rushed in, pulling the tube that went all the way down to his stomach from his _nose_. They held his head as he puked into a cardboard kidney dish, trembling all over. He had another one of those fucking tubes connected to his penis too, he realized. _Fucking fantastic._

His right arm. His right hand. No fucking way. He would find a way and would _not_ let anyone come near his fucking arm.

‘I do not consent to this.’ He sounded like a 90 year-old grandpa with lung cancer.

‘Tony…’

‘Where’s my suit? I need my suit. _Now_.’

‘Tony, it’s too late. We tried already. The damage was too severe.’

He looked down at the limp, bandaged hand that he couldn’t move.

‘No. Please no.’

Waking up missing an arm was not as bad as he’d thought. He still felt sick, though. This was surreal, really, _really_ weird, to not have anything there, but he managed to find it pretty funny.

‘Thank God it wasn’t my left hand. I jack off way better with this one.’ Pepper rested her forehead against his left arm, chuckling.

When she entered the room again with Morgan in her arms, infinite love for his little girl made him choke up. Morgan started crying too. It was the first time she saw her daddy cry, and he was missing an arm.

‘Hey Maguna, come over here… that’s it… hey, look at me, I’m gonna tell you something really important, okay? You ready? I’m crying because I’m really,_ really_ happy to see you, honey, not because I’m sad. I’m not hurting either, not anymore. I just love you 3000 and that’s a shit ton to handle, even for me, sweetie.’

She smiled at that, still holding on to her mommy’s hand. Pepper frowned at the unexpected swear word, but she didn’t say anything, understanding this was certainly one of their little inside jokes, not wanting to ruin this moment for anything.

‘Plus, you know what? I’m gonna tell you a secret, come here.’ Morgan pressed her lips together in another shy smile and stepped closer to him. ‘_I’m gonna get a super bionic arm with special powers and it’ll be _awesome_’, _he whispered in her ear.

He then played rock, paper, scissors with his remaining hand against her, making her laugh, and definitively reassuring her. She sat on his bed and peppered little kisses all over his face, making him smile all the way to his tired eyes.

‘Who figured it out?’, he asked Pepper as soon as Happy took Morgan away.

She gave him a look and a sad smile. He knew then. He smiled back, looking down.

‘He came to see you on the first day. He really cares about you, Tony... Tell me when –’

‘No.’

Pepper frowned. He went on in a weak voice. ‘I don’t wanna see him.’

She had clearly not been expecting that.

‘Tony… he saved you… He—he’s waiting for us to contact him…’

‘I can’t.’ The words were painful. ‘I can’t see him.’

Why did she look sad and worried at that? Where was the relief? The dread? The jealousy?

‘You can’t just… ignore him.’

‘Well I can’t see him.’

‘Okay.’

‘Just… tell him I’m resting.’

He couldn’t. Not now. Not after all this time. Seeing him on the battlefield had been like seeing a ghost, an angel, a _dream_. He had been mourning Peter for years and the kid had bounced back into his life with the same candor, the same energy, the same _life;_ the same wide eyes full of reverence, that same high voice speaking to him with excitement as if no time had passed at all. It hadn’t for _him_. For Peter, Titan had been a few minutes ago. He had taken him in his arms, unable to let go of him even if it meant his uncovered head getting blown off by alien fire. He hadn’t been able to. He had wanted to hold on to him forever. He had let his guard down. Peter must have noticed. 

No, he couldn’t see him now. Not after having cherished his memory for so long like an old man fondly daydreaming of a long-lost love. Not when he had Pepper, not when he had _Morgan_, who was only over a decade younger than him, not when they were both okay again, both alive and breathing in the same universe. He couldn’t.

He knew the kid loved him. He was his mentor, his idol, like a _father_ to him after he’d lost his own and then his uncle. _Jesus Christ_. He would be hurt, he would not understand; but so be it. He couldn’t do it. The kid would get over it eventually.

He focused on his family, on getting better for them and for them first. He received visits from the others, and after he had tried to walk again for the first time with a fucking _trolley_, feeling more than ever like an elderly man, Rhodey passed him a hand-written letter. Who even wrote _letters_ anymore? It was from Cap. He was gone. He had returned the Stones and chosen to remain in the past, ‘_home’_, as he had written. Tony smiled. He deserved it more than anyone, the perfect bastard. He would miss him.

Iron Man was a global demigod now. People worshipped him. Pepper, Happy and Rhodey showed him footage from all over the world of people praying for him, painting murals of his helmet, of his own face, chanting his name...

‘What’s new?’ he quipped, making everyone laugh.

On a Tuesday morning three weeks after the battle, a blonde woman with short hair came to visit him flanked by a strange-looking alien. It was the woman who had appeared to him in the middle of outer space when he’d thought it was the end. Carol Danvers. The alien was so tall he – or she, Tony wasn’t sure – had to bend over to enter the room, and then it bent even lower in an elegant bow. He wasn’t worshipped just on earth, now. _Wow, okay_. It had large, sad, puppy eyes, not unlike the cat from Shrek. It was from an advanced species living 24,000 light years away, not far from the center of the Milky Way_._ Well, not far… 1,000 light years away from it... Tony asked for some water.

The cute and scary being was from a very old peaceful and dreamy species drawn to science and mystical musing. They were offering him medical care, but he would have to travel to their planet to receive it. 24,000 light years away… ‘It won’t take long’, the alien said. ‘Okay’, Tony just replied, more out of bewilderment than actually accepting their offer. He had a long conversation with Pepper about it afterwards. He was fucking scared of going back up there but if it meant getting better… Pepper pointed out he could be attacked, that Thanos could’ve had more supporters they didn’t know about, that they had no way of finding out this wasn’t a trap. Carol Danvers offered to accompany him there, but then she would have to leave, she said. The Avengers could come with them for protection…

It was agreed. Tony would leave aboard their spaceship on June 3 with Danvers, Rhodey, Banner, Wanda and a very interested Doctor Strange. Pepper would stay with Morgan. It would only take four days for them up there, and a little more than a couple of weeks on Earth.

Happy would of course stay to run the company. He told him he had recommended Dr. Szafran to May Parker. Peter wasn’t okay. What had he expected? The kid had freaking _died_ and come back to life five years later! Of course it wasn’t because of him; he had good old PTSD. Happy told him Peter had started playing the French horn again the next day and it made Tony chuckle. He'd even signed up for a trip to Europe with his school. Yes, he’d be okay. He would slowly recover, like him, and everything would be fine… until the next threat.

He arranged for Fury to hand Peter a pair of his glasses if something came up in their absence, but it turned out Fury was already out there in space. An alien took his place, a shape-shifter, and Tony stared at a perfect replica of Nick Fury except it was looking at him with a sort of dumb look on his face. _That'll do, it's just for a couple of weeks_, he thought.

_Pete… Sweet and brilliant Peter Parker in his tiny apartment in Queens, in his tiny bedroom wondering why Iron Man didn’t text him…_ Maybe the silence would make him despise him in the end. Maybe he was crying over him. Nah. He was a teenager. Even if he wasn’t straight and had a crush on his hot mentor in armor, he would get over it soon enough. Tony had the urge to spy on him again but restrained himself.

He could just reach for his phone and text him… let him know he hadn’t forgotten about him… let him know he cared...

A day before his trip to Sensahya, the mysterious planet so very far away with tech and medicine beyond anything he could imagine, he finally sent the kid a text. It was on Friday, June 2.

To Parker, 6:54am: **Guess who’s back?**


	19. Mysterio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to cut this chapter into two separate ones because of its length.
> 
> When you read text messages preceded by a precise hour in this fic, said hours can sometimes turn out to be relevant... just saying... Enjoy this version of Far From Home (part 1...)!

** Wednesday June 14, 2023 **

‘Okay, let’s do a little recap one last time. Plan A: trigger the illusions in Venice along with all the damage, lure the kid in as well as the remaining Avengers, and then trick them into spilling everything they know about Stark’s science. If they buy it and all we need is a little more time, we carry on with Plan A and bring the show to Prague. If I come across any kind of essential Stark tech, I’ll try and get my hands on it, and then _your_ job will be to study the shit out of it to see if we can get anything from it. If they won’t talk for some reason, if the kid turns out not to know anything because the whole thing was a PR stunt, if anything goes wrong at all with plan A, we immediately switch to plan B: get the hell out of here and blackmail Peter Parker. Either he finds a way to give us the science or we blab about him having the hots for Iron Man. Now I know what some of you are thinking: why don’t we just do that in the first place? Well, don’t forget what we’re trying to prove here too: that Stark isn’t the only _genius_ out there.’

‘That’s right!’

‘Yeah!’

‘That _our_ technology can change the world.’

‘Yeah!’

‘That _we_ are as capable as him when it comes to revolutionary tech and _we_ deserve our moment in the spotlight!’

‘Yeah we do!’

‘_We_ deserve to show the world what we can do, what _we_ can create: our very own superhero, our very own _Savior_, because that’s all people wanna hear about these days, because that’s _all_ _they care about!_ You can be a genius and work your ass off and they won’t even _notice_ you. No, today, you need superpowers, a magical gauntlet and a cape to get people to even _listen_! Well, now we have a cape!’

‘Yeah we do!’

‘We have superpowers! We can enthrall the media and finally make _our_ tech _shine_! We can do this, folks. We’re ready. We have prepared for this. We have trained for this. We are finally on the brink of taking back what’s _ours_, of stopping that selfish capitalist from keeping it all to himself, of finally bringing scientific knowledge back to the public sphere!’

‘That’s right!’

‘Exactly!’

‘Yeah!’

‘This is _our_ chance, people. We can’t screw this up. We have to succeed. We owe it to the people. We owe it to _ourselves_. But remember, this is Spider-Man we’re talking about. He’s not just a kid; never forget what he can do. Don’t come too close and whatever you do, don’t attract attention to yourself. We can do this, people. We can do this!’

‘We can do this!’

‘Yes, we can!’

‘Good luck everyone.’

‘Good luck.’

'Good luck.’

‘Good luck to you, Mark.’

‘Good luck, Vicky.’

‘Quentin?’

‘Mmh?’

‘You’re _really_ good at speeches, you know that? So _eloquent_.’

‘Aw, thank you, Janice.’

* * *

** Friday June 2, 2023 **

**6:54am: Guess who’s back?**

7:02am: ?

**7:03am: Thought this would fire your imagination. You disappoint me, kid. **

7:24am: Mr. Stark?

**7:24am: The one and only.**

7:45am: How are you feeling?

**7:46am: Like I just lost a lung. You?**

8:34am: Fine

**8:35am: Are you sulking? **

8:36am: No

**8:36am: Seems like you are.**

8:36am: Think what yu wants

**8:37am: And I thought I was the one with brain damage.**

**9:02am: Yep. Definitely sulking. Sorry for the long silence kid, I know it’s not like I almost died saving the universe or something.**

**11:05am: You kids are cruel these days.**

11:08am: Sorry, was busy.

11:09am: Your daughter looks smart and she’s really cute.

**11:36am: I know.**

**11:36am: She’s slowly becoming a master manipulator. I’m so proud.**

1:15pm: You really have brain damage or was it just a joke?

**1:16pm: Both.**

1:25pm: ?

**1:58pm: Nothing major. **

2:15pm: Leukemia?

**4:04pm: Not yet.**

4:05pm: Can you cure it?

**4:05pm: Most likely.**

4:58pm: Will you share it with the world?

**5:01pm: Obviously.**

**5:01pm: **

5:02pm: Couldn’t resist.

5:06pm: How are you really?

**6:00pm: Almost back to normal. **

6:06pm: Can you be more specific?

**10:56pm: No.**

10:57pm: …

**10:58pm: I feel like Abe Simpson but I’ll get to see my kid grow up. **

**10:58pm: Satisfied? **

**10:58pm: Gotta sleep now, big day tomorrow. **

10:59pm: Surgery?

**10:59pm: Space.**

10:59pm: ???

**11:00pm: I got an invite from a fancy species, couldn’t refuse. **

**11:02pm: Btw, heard you’re going to Europe soon. Enjoy the trip, kid.**

11:08pm: For how long?

11:32pm: Do you need backup?

11:58pm: How can they help you get better?

01:02am: Please answer me.

**4:34am: Couple of weeks.**

**4:34am: No clue but I’m hoping something more along the lines of Contact than Re-Animator. Add those to your list and get some sleep.**

4:36am: Isn’t that a crappy remake of frankenstein? I’ve seen contact. Three times

4:36am: You didn’t answer my second question

**4:36am: I got all the backup I need.  
**

**4:37am: Sleep.**

7:55am: Are you still here? Be careful out there, sir.

**7:56am: Yes Pete. **

**7:58am: Here’s some old man advice. Forget about the Avengers for a while. Just go on that trip, be a regular kid and have fun. **

8:05am: I will. Thank you, sir.

The previous week, MJ had done a presentation in History class about the bubonic plague, making two guys and a girl almost puke. Peter remembered her impassive voice vividly describing buboes or reactive lymphadenopathy: _‘They’re painful swellings in the armpits, neck, thighs or groin caused by bacteria and they may rupture, discharging large amounts of pus. Victims whose buboes swell so much that they end up bursting tend to survive the disease; that’s why, before the discovery of antibiotics, do__ctors often drained bu__boes in order to save their patients; it was a very painful and tedious task.’ _She had of course gone on to describe it in colorful details, although Mr. Gold had forbidden her to project her Powerpoint full of pictures, to her obvious disappointment. Peter kind of felt like a plague patient right now. That moment when he’d realized it was really _him_ texting him had been like the bursting of a bubo; and now, after more than 24 hours of texting Mr. Stark, he felt rid of a disease, saved, but covered in painful scars – still in pain, still sick, but so relieved he almost felt high.

It had taken him a good twenty minutes to calm down after the second text. _It’s him, it’s him, it’s really him. _And to think he’d even had suicidal thoughts when the man had just been… slowly recovering. ‘_It’s not like I almost died saving the universe or something’. _All that anguish, all those crazy theories… He couldn’t deny that he’d been a bit mad at first, full of outraged disbelief at seeing the man simply joke back into his life as if nothing had happened at all; but now he felt like a complete idiot. Mr. Stark had just been resting and he was a dad and Peter wasn’t family nor was he part of his close circle of friends, and that was it. _That’s it, that’s all it is._

So what if it was a bit rude to contact him after all this time like that? So what if he didn’t even thank him directly for having understood what his notes had been about? He was _Tony Stark_ after all… Now Peter was just grateful _Tony Stark_ had thought about him. And he hadn’t just sent him one text! They’d been texting each other for a whole day! More than 24 hours… After the initial sulking, Peter had felt tingles all over every time he had received another text. It was as if they were back to their little weekly routine, back in 2018, back to… _before Thanos_.

He wondered if the fancy species could make Mr. Stark’s arm grow back. ‘_I feel like Abe Simpson but I’ll get to see my kid grow up_’. He hadn’t mentioned his arm at all and Peter hadn’t dared ask him about it… He remembered Wanda’s words. _‘He’s very weak’_. Oh what he wouldn’t give right now to be with him! To go to space with him again! To take care of him… to _protect_ him… He had never given it that much thought before but now he was fully aware of the fact that he was so much stronger than the older man…

Two weeks… In two weeks they would be texting each other again, maybe finally seeing each other. It would be right after his trip to Europe... He smiled into his pillow.

_‘Yes Pete’… _Oh how he loved it when he called him Pete. He’d missed it so much. _‘Want some old man advice? Forget about the Avengers for a while. Just go on that trip, be a regular kid and have fun.’_

_Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll do just that, Mr. Stark. I’ll follow your advice, sir… I’ll follow your advice… Yes. Yes. I’m gonna do it... Mr. Stark… anything you ask… anything you want… anything you want from me… Yes! Anything!_

‘Tony! Aaaah!’

The buboes had been burst but the scars… How the hell was he going to get rid of the scars? No, the metaphor was crap, he was still sick… totally sick… Jerking off really helped, though. It brought him back to earth afterwards, and nevermind the stomach-turning shame… He could properly think again.

_Back to square one. _

He had to stop. He had to get better. For May, for Ned, for Mr. Stark, for _himself._ He had to clear his head, to properly diagnose the disease, to _think_.

Who was he in love with? A 53 year-old man who cared about him in a sort of distant, detached, fatherly way. Mr. Stark had only contacted him after more than a month,_ ergo_ he didn’t care all that much about him. But he did a little. He cared enough to send him text messages – to text him all day and even at night. He had _thought _about him. He had even been _worrying_ about him. So yes, he did care a little. Peter pictured him drinking a cup of coffee the previous morning, suddenly remembering he’d forgotten about his fanboy Peter Parker, just like when you suddenly realize you’ve forgotten to write an old childhood friend you don’t even see all that much anymore. It’s not that you don’t care about them – you genuinely _like_ to be around them – but they’re just not part of your daily life anymore, so you tend to forget. After all, he’d been gone for _five years_ and they’d never been really that close. Mr. Stark had probably been like: _Oh shit, forgot to send good old Peter Parker a text. I miss the little smartass, hope he’s doing okay. _

This was real life. _Real life_. And Peter had to adjust to it. He was just a kid Mr. Stark vaguely cared about and it was _normal_. It was _okay_. He finally felt sober after a long period of drunkenness.

_As long as I get more texts from him… Please, let me have more texts from him…_

He decided to follow his mentor’s advice to the fullest. He needed distractions. He needed to act like a regular teenager again – go to school, geek out with Ned, play with Lego and think about some girl.

MJ.

Yes, she was the perfect distraction. She was unique and smart and funny and cute. She loved reading, like him. She loved science, like him. She was kind of awkward, like him. She always had some interesting tidbit to share and he loved it. Focusing on her plus that trip to Europe would be the perfect combination to put his mind right back on track. Yes, this was perfect. This could actually work. All he had to do now was to plan it out, to make a move, to make this _real_.

He started watching her at school when he knew she wasn’t looking. He spotted her reading _Wuthering Heights_ in the cafeteria, and then she went on to read _The Moonstone_, and then _The Murder of Roger Ackroyd_. So she had an appetite for Gothic fiction and detective stories… Maybe he could buy her a book? But what if she’d already read it? She could apparently devour entire novels in a couple of days, so it was probably a bad idea... Maybe some cute necklace then? But she didn’t seem like the kind of girl who’d be happy to receive some jewelry from a boy _at all_. And what if she was gay? Besides, he wouldn’t know what necklace to choose anyway. What if she hated it?

He kept his mind busy with this new mission: making MJ his girlfriend and planning it all out to happen during their trip to Europe – because _thank Jesus and Tony Stark our Saviors_, she was going too – and he felt better already. He asked May for some help one sunny Sunday morning and she beamed at him, busy braiding her own hair in their small bathroom.

‘Peter, trust me, every girl on earth likes it when a boy buys her a necklace, even if it’s really ugly.’

Peter frowned at that. ‘That… doesn’t make sense at all… and it’s… kinda sexist.’

‘Nothing does when it comes to love, honey’, she chanted, working fast on her long brown hair. ‘I know how it sounds but here’s the thing: there’s this... _trend_ going on right now among young people... They think old-fashioned, romantic gestures are too cliché and ridiculous and everyone seems blasé about them… but trust me honey, even the smartest girls absolutely _crave_ those; and boys too by the way; even when they’re trying really hard to act all manly and not show any of their feelings... My point is: being sweet and romantic is always a win for everybody. So you can be a feminist _and_ be turned on by chivalrous men.’

‘May!’ Peter exclaimed, shocked and suddenly pink.

‘Just be a sweet and respectful gentleman and… be yourself!’, she winked, walking away from the bathroom to take care of some gratin in the oven. ‘Try and find something related to her personality!’, she called out, ‘I don’t know, like, if she really likes nature, buy her a flower necklace!’

‘Okay…’ Peter slowly replied, still frowning, not convinced at all, imagining himself handing MJ a pink flower necklace and her staring at it, then at him, a look of _are you fucking kidding me right now?_ on her face. Maybe a book pendant? Like a little golden book pendant? _No, that’s so lame…_ Peter’s face scrunched up at the thought.

He ended up searching for ideas on the Internet for hours, and was surprised when he noticed after a while that every single shop in Venice, even the smallest ones, had a detailed online shop with a search engine and all of their products neatly listed there, like on Amazon. There had been a ton of little advances like that during the five-year gap; they could now literally order anything from anywhere at any time, even if it meant some cheap little knickknack currently in a tiny village in the middle of India. _Yay progress_… Eventually, he spotted something absolutely perfect: a flower necklace in black Murano glass. A black dahlia! Like the murder! It had a Gothic vibe and it was very cute_, just like her_. Peter grinned. If he bought it in Venice it would become a souvenir too. He instantly reserved it online. He would buy it when they got there, give it to her on top of the Eiffel Tower, and then ask her if he could be her boyfriend. He had a feeling she would find the whole thing corny as hell but whatever. That was what he would have loved to experience had he been a girl. And if that didn’t work, well… this definitely wasn’t the end of the world.

One Monday monring, he learned on the news about Captain America’s sacrifice to bring the Stones back to their original dimensions. Cap was gone. He didn’t feel that hurt not to have been informed by the Avengers directly, but he did feel some sadness at the thought he would never see Steve Rogers again.

He felt like some kind of werewolf; or a Gremlin, he smirked. During the day, he perfectly succeeded in being just a high school kid with a crush on a weird, nerdy girl. At night, he came back from his patrols way after midnight, drenched in sweat in his Iron-Spider Suit; he was the new Avenger, Tony Stark’s _genius protégé_, the hero who had died, come back to life and then saved his mentor, and he would jerk off now chanting _Tony _into his pillow, imagining his idol just as secretly in love with him as he was –what if Ned was right?–, and that thought combined with the intimacy of his first name always blew his mind.

_Two weeks. Two weeks. _

_One week._

His next therapy session with Susan came the day before his trip.

It started as usual. They first talked about school, then about May and for the first time about Ned, but then Susan stopped asking questions, took some big file from her briefcase and began to read from it as if he wasn’t there. It was only after a full minute of silence that he recognized the pale blue file.

_No._

The question came right after his realization, way too early unlike the previous times, and it took him by surprise.

‘Would you like to tell me about Mr. Stark today?’

He was staring at the blue file, not knowing which stunned him the most; the object or that question.

‘I – I prefer not to.’

‘Why not?’

_Fuck._ He took a deep breath before answering her, but then he realized he had no answer.

‘Is it because it demands some particular effort from your part?’

He was speechless. Of course she had noticed. _Of course._

‘Perhaps because he means a lot to you?’

Was it saying too much if he said yes? He thought about it. He was his mentor after all, and mentors always meant a lot to their protégés. So what?

‘Yes.’

‘Who is he to you?’

_What the hell?_

'M– my mentor.’

She scribbled something on her notepad, right next to the file. He couldn’t stop staring at it. Maybe it was another file that looked like the one he knew? She was quiet again, fixing him intently.

‘Peter, you signed a consent form for me to have access to your file previously filled in by Dr. Schwartz and Dr. Felson, remember?’

_No._

‘Y– yeah?’

He rarely thought about the year of therapy he’d had after Ben’s death. It seemed so long ago now. As for that whole period after he lost his parents… it was well-buried deep within the darkest recesses of his mind and for good reasons. And now he was scared, bracing himself for what was to come. The plague metaphor popped up in his mind again.

‘I couldn’t help but notice the way you coped after Ben’s passing is exactly what you’re doing right now. Reading. _A lot_. Until very late at night, or rather early in the morning, as you told me. Am I right?’

‘I– I guess, yeah.’

‘Would you mind me asking what you are reading right now?’

‘A– a paper… actually… not a book.’

‘A paper?’

‘Yeah… a research paper… about the Novikov self-consistency principle. It’s… physics.’

‘Would you mind me asking why?’

‘Well, I’ve always loved reading. Helps me… think of something else…’

‘Other than what, Peter?’

_No, no, no._ She would _not_ get what she wanted from him that easily.

‘Death…’

She nodded sadly, looking down at that little notepad of hers again.

‘And he was there, wasn’t he? Mr. Stark. You died in his arms.’

_Fuck._

‘Listen, I – I need to stop. Can we just stop now?’

‘Why now? Is it because we’re getting somewhere?’

Peter was breathing hard. _That file… That big blue file..._

‘Peter… Remember what I told you? It is when it is getting difficult to speak that we know we are reaching exactly what needs to be said.’

‘I – I don’t wanna talk about it. I can’t right now.’

‘I am certain that you can. You are a brave young man. You were able to tell me about that nightmare and that painting that scared you so much on your _very first_ session with me. You were able to tell me about your own death. Why couldn’t you handle this?’

‘Not… today. I’m sorry. Later.’

‘I think now is the perfect time, Peter.’

His heart was beating too fast. He felt more and more like a deer in the headlights – trapped, in danger and unable to move.

‘Should I remind you that everything you say here will never leave these walls? Do you trust me, Peter?’

‘I can’t– I mean, I do, but I don’t know what you want me to say.’

‘I want you to tell me about Mr. Stark.’

‘Why? How? What do you want me to say? What does that even mean?’

‘Who is he to you?’

‘I told you! My mentor.’

‘Who is he _really_?’

‘I– What’s _that_ supposed to mean?’

‘Why are you being defensive about this? Why is it so difficult for you to talk ab–’

‘I grew up with him!’ he blurted out, surprising himself, but Susan didn’t even start. She just gave him a little smile and a little nod, urging him on with sympathetic eyes. _Bursting the buboes…_ He took a deep breath. ‘I was a fan… I– he– he was my role model... He…he’s always been… still is.’ He stopped, but Susan was still waiting. ‘My whole life I… I’ve been reading books… to be like him I guess. Yeah, to become an engineer… I– I read books, built computers...’ he trailed off, taking another deep breath and sighing heavily. This was exhausting but maybe he really needed to say it out loud. ‘Ben… my uncle… he used to read to me… explain everything to me… and then I explained stuff to him when I grew up and… and…’ She was looking down at the blue file. ‘So yeah, here you go. Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe he’s like a father to me. Is that what you wanted to hear?’

‘Is that what you wanted to say?’

‘I don’t wanna say anything.’

‘You don’t realize it now, but there are things that you need to say to yourself even if deep down, you already know them. You need to formulate them to yourself, to fully accept who you are. To fully_ forgive_ yourself.’

Peter was perplexed.

‘Forgive what?’

‘I don’t know, Peter. You tell me.’

He looked out the window on his left. He felt watched, preyed upon. _Forgive my fucked-up self? How?_ The next question was a slap in his face.

‘What did your father do?’

‘What?’

‘Your father. What did he do?’

For a second it sounded like a foreign language.

‘Ben?’ he stupidly said, dumb-founded.

‘No, Peter, _your father_. The one you lost when you were six. Can you tell me about him?’

Speaking in a sweet voice like that didn’t soften the blow at all. If she had read that file, she _knew_ he couldn’t bear to.

‘I don’t remember.’

‘I think that you do.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Peter…’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Just tell me this: what did he do?’

‘I can’t.’

‘Please try. I know you can do this.’

‘I don’t know. I never really knew.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Just tell me what you know then.’

‘They were scientists!’ He exclaimed with an air of _There! Are you happy now?_

_They were scientists._ _Plural. Mom and dad._ Why the fuck did she wanna talk about his dad only? Was she doing what he thought she doing right now? Really? _Seriously?_ She looked satisfied. Peter cringed.

‘In this file it is written that you talked about a memory with Dr. Felson. A memory of your father.’

_Fuck no. No fucking way._

‘Peter, I know this is hard.’

He was shaking his head, trembling now – out of anger or shock or grief, he didn’t know exactly.

‘Take your time, and if you can’t today, it’s okay. It’s okay, Peter. We can talk about him later.’

_No, never. _What point was there to this? Why dig up the trauma it had taken _years _for him to finally bury? How many times did he have to go through the same exact torture sessions? He’d done it when he was little, that doctor forcing him to say their names out loud even when he’d been crying his eyes out, and then after Ben died when he’d been feeling as if trapped in a nightmare, and now he had to go through the same old shit _again_? He had _never _felt any better after talking about them. _Never._ It was pointless. Cruel and pointless. They were dead. _Gone._ Nothing could ever make that fact _easier_.

‘If what you’re trying to make me say right now is that I see Mr. Stark as some kind of father figure, just go ahead and ask that! It’s obvious enough as it is, don’t you think? And then what? So what? What do I learn from this? How does that help me in any way?’

‘I asked you a question about Richard, Peter, not Tony Stark.’

He closed his eyes upon hearing his father’s name, and maybe it was the shock mixed with the shame of hearing all their names in one sentence like that, but he was suddenly crying. Ben and May had never pronounced his name in his presence. They had known all too well what it did to him. He hid his face in his right hand, trying his best to calm down, heaving quietly but unable to keep big, fat tears from rolling down his cheeks.

Susan was quiet now.

‘What’s the point?’ He managed to articulate bitterly after a moment. ‘What’s _your_ point?’

‘My point is that knowing yourself better leads to acceptance and peace.’

He didn’t know why, but he felt angry at that.

‘So let me get this straight’, he said, wiping his nose against the sleeve of his hoodie. ‘That means that if, say, a murderer goes to therapy and learns why he likes killing so much, he won’t feel guilty anymore? He’ll be _at peace_ and everything’ll be _fine_?’ He lifted his fingers to sign some quotation marks upon saying _‘at peace’_, his sarcastic tone making him sound quite rude. Susan was frowning and he immediately felt the need to apologize. ‘I’m sorry. I just don’t know why you’re doing this.’

‘Do you feel guilty?’

‘What? Why? Why would I feel guilty?’

Susan gave him a few seconds to realize why she was asking him that, and she spoke in an even gentler voice. She sounded sad. _Pity, that’s what it is._

‘It says here that you blamed yourself for your parents’ death even when you were six years old.’

‘I don’t anymore’, he managed to say. Okay, now he just wanted to give her what she wanted just so she would _go away_.

_Please, _please_ just go away already. Take what you want from me and _go away.

‘You thought _you_ were the reason why they were always away for work. Because you weren’t smart enough for _them_. Not smart enough, not interesting enough. You thought if you had been smart enough, they wouldn’t have been on that plane...’

He had forgotten about that. He had finally been able to forget, and she was now rubbing it all in his face after so many years of blissful oblivion.

‘Why are you doing this? Why?’ he asked in a small voice, another tear escaping his left eye.

_Why are you torturing me?_

‘To remind you that from a _very_ young age, you’ve had the tendency to blame yourself for things that are completely outside of your control, Peter.’

They were both silent for a moment, before Peter repeated: ‘I told you. I don’t blame myself for… for _that_ anymore.’

‘Your father was more present than your mother’, she went on, still in that gentle tone, completely ignoring him, her right hand resting on the open file. ‘She was more often away, and he took care of you in her absence. Consequently, you have more memories of him than you have of her… _of you and him together in his workshop.’_

Peter abruptly stood up, and it took all the courage he could muster not to run away or shout for her to shut the fuck up.

‘Are you in love with Mr. Stark, Peter?’

His eyebrows went high and desperate when he heard the abrupt question that seemed to come out of nowhere, but he didn’t run, he didn’t shout, he didn’t even lie. He just hid his face in both his hands and flopped back down onto the couch with a pitiful thump. Susan let some seconds pass before she spoke slowly.

‘It’s okay, Peter. It _really _is, and it is _not_ your fault. You cannot choose where you come from and certainly not who you fall in love with. You see, love and desire are very strange things beyond our control. Our reason can try and understand them, tame them, soften them, they always find their way to escape it and make us suffer; make us feel ashamed.’

He couldn’t speak.

‘Don’t ever blame yourself for what happened to you and for who you are now. It’s not easy, not easy at all, but with some distance and perspective, you can learn to love yourself and forgive yourself. Be wise, Peter. Would you blame someone like you, someone with your experience, for who they love? For who they can’t help but love?’

‘This is humiliating.’

‘Why? I find it quite beautiful.’

‘Beautiful?’ He looked up, startled.

‘Yes, poetic.’

‘Po– it’s…_wrong_’, he whispered. ‘_Twisted_.’

‘What is?’

‘_This_. You know.’

‘Your sexuality?’

‘What? No. No_, this_.’

‘You think you’re the first teenager to fall for an adult? The first to desire a father figure?’

‘But this… this is… this is _wrong_.’

‘Being queer or loving a much older man?’ When Peter didn’t reply, she added in a soft voice: ‘Or both, perhaps?’

He had never admitted it to himself, always thinking he could _never _be homophobic, _not him_, but deep down, he knew he wasn’t happy to be queer. If he had a choice, he would erase that part of himself. Susan took her reading glasses off.

‘You’ve been through terrible ordeals in your life, and those like you who’ve had to go through a lot tend to either shield themselves to the point of not being able to feel anything anymore, or navigate through their entire lives with intensity, for the better or worse. You clearly belong to the second group, and I believe you are lucky in that regard.’

‘What? You think I’m _lucky?_’

‘I believe so, yes. You’re a brave and sensitive young man and you’re not afraid to show your emotions, or less so than others at least. Your grief and turmoil aren’t buried so deep that you are rendered completely unable to communicate or even acknowledge your own struggles. It doesn’t mean that it makes it _easy_ for you but yes, it is easier to be like that than to be entirely desensitized. Some teenagers like you resent their hypersensitivity, not knowing how to deal with it. It is only once they are well into adulthood that they realize how fragile and precious that ability is; when they begin to lose it...’

Peter thought about that for a moment.

‘I don’t know if I’m gay or not’, he suddenly said.

‘Sexuality can be a complex thing. You’ll figure it out along the way.’

He nodded. He weirdly felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She wasn’t shocked or concerned about his love for Mr. Stark. She was even acting as if it was completely normal_, banal_.

‘I want to talk to you about something in particular, Peter. You do know suicide is more common amongst LGBTQ teenagers?’

Peter literally flinched. ‘I won’t– I’m not… I would never do that to May.’

‘I want you to be very honest with me there, Peter. Have you thought about it?’

He took a deep breath. ‘I’ll never do it.’

‘I take that as a yes. Is that a yes?’

Peter glanced at her and gave a tiny nod.

‘Since your metabolism doesn’t allow for regular drug prescriptions, I have to ensure your safety in–’

‘I told you’, he interrupted her, ‘there is _no way_ I would _ever_ do that to my aunt. _Ever._’

‘Peter, do you think people who commit suicide do it out of selfishness? Do you know what an impulse is?’

‘I’ll never do it’, he mumbled, now not so sure of himself. ‘Besides, I’m Spider-Man. I can literally survive a fall from my bedroom window, so…’

‘This is certainly reassuring in some way, but I have to make sure you’re completely safe, and the only thing I can do is talk to you, and ask you to talk to your friends and family in case it ever happens again.’

‘In case… What? You– he told you?’

‘Yes. He asked your aunt for my number and he called me. He was quite concerned. You’re lucky to have such a good friend.’

‘Oh my god! Please, please don’t tell me he told May too!’

‘I believe he didn’t. He asked her for my number telling her he needed me to know about something but he told your aunt it was private, and she let him call me.’

‘Oh my god… _Ned_…’

She just smiled.

‘Keep opening up to him. Keep him close.’

He nodded. Another stretch of silence went by.

‘I – I don’t think it will ever stop.’

‘What will?’

‘This… my… _feelings_.’

‘For Mr. Stark?’

‘Yeah…’

‘Maybe it won’t, but you’ll learn how to deal with it.’

‘What if I don’t?’

‘That’s why I’m here. That’s why Ned and May are here.’

He looked out the window again. He still weirdly felt watched.

‘I like a girl too. Her name’s Michelle, or MJ. She’s in my class and… she’s a bit like me.’

Susan smiled.

‘Tell me about her.’

The next appointment was scheduled the week after his trip to Europe. When Susan was gone he immediately walked up to the living room window and opened it, peering outside at what, he couldn’t say. The feeling was gone. His paranoia had just been a consequence of that harrowing therapy session. He went to his room to pack for the next day, grabbing Ben’s old suitcase and opening his closet only to be met with the sight of the suit Mr. Stark had designed for him dangling there between his shirts. No, he needed to think about something else, he needed to _go on that trip, be a regular kid and have fun_. He glanced at the Iron-Spider Suit which seemed to beckon him too, but resisted it. He was hopelessly in love with Tony Stark but it was okay. He was who he was and it wasn’t his fault. Now he had to focus on getting better.

That night before their flight to Venice he watched some straight porn and loved it, enjoying close-ups of dicks sliding in and out of the wet heat of tight pussies, amused by the fake moans and crappy lines but reaching his climax quite easily. Before turning his lamp off however, he couldn’t resist having a look at some gay porn too. He had tried a few times already but had always been weirded out pretty quickly, all the videos he had ever found feeling sort of wrong and twisted to him. He couldn’t laugh at gay porn the way he could at straight porn; it made him frown at the screen either in plain disgust or because of what it made him reluctantly feel. He’d never liked gay porn. Until that night.

The very first video he clicked on was entitled ‘me and my bf’, and it was quite simply of a guy blowing another guy and then fucking him, but they were regular people, a real couple, not actors, and that made all the difference. At one point the one on top whispered gentle words to the other, a question, simply asking if the other was okay with a loving voice full of lust and emotion, and it was like a revelation for Peter. For the first time he wasn’t weirded out, he didn’t find anything disgusting, he just watched the two of them making love, a pained and lustful expression on his face, jaw slack, rock-hard and hot with desire again, finding the whole thing simply beautiful. He ended up having a second orgasm and searching for more videos like this one until 2am – videos of real gay couples having sex – but he came across dozens of the same old porn vids that did nothing to arouse him, quite the contrary. He put the first one into his favorites before falling asleep, imagining himself decades later as a middle-aged dad married to MJ, occasionally sneaking out of the house to get blown by strangers through filthy glory holes, still thinking about Mr. Stark, regularly soothing his eternally broken heart for a few seconds of imaginary bliss…

The alarm on his phone was another kind of torture when it woke him up at 5:30. He would sleep on the plane... He tried to focus back on MJ but Mr. Stark’s image was literally everywhere. After a failed attempt at securing a plane seat next to her to get his mind off his mentor, he found himself next to his depressed teacher Mr. Garrison who talked to him about the Snap, MJ now sitting next to the hottest dude in their Academic Decathlon group and maybe in their entire school... _Crap._ He flicked through the available movies on the seatback screen in front of him, only to come across plenty of movies about the Blip and the Avengers, including a full biographical documentary on _Our Savior Tony Stark_.

_Great…_

After a couple of hours he spotted MJ standing up to go to the bathroom and managed to make it there before her, all pumped up at the prospect of finding himself right in front of her when he would open the bathroom door, even cleaning the toilet seat for her and fixing his hair in the mirror, but when he opened it, he found himself in front of Brad his hot rival instead… _Fantastic…_

When they landed in Venice, there seemed to be even more Iron Man and Tony Stark murals, starting with one right in the middle of the airport, and then he realized in front of a customs agent that May had packed his Spider-Man suit in Ben’s old suitcase... His first Stark suit… It was as if destiny kept pushing Mr. Stark back into his mind, preventing him from escaping the very thoughts he was trying to run away from.

He ignored the murals, he ignored the suit, he ignored that new _Brad_ issue and let himself enjoy the wonderful change of scene. He was in Europe! In Italy! He was absolutely thrilled to discover one of the most beautiful cities on the planet, grinning and taking pictures in the imposing St Mark’s Square, asking tons of questions to their guide inside the Doge’s Palace, floored by the beauty and history that were literally everywhere around them. He and Ned sought out as many costumed people as they could in the narrow cobbled streets full of ancient little shops, even if they were outside of the Carnival season and those were basically tourist traps. He didn’t care if they weren’t authentic; the masked, mysterious Venetian figures sent thrills to his heart every time one of them turned to look at him, fixing him strangely sideways without a word… It was so cool.

He was happy, happier than he’d felt in a long, long time, sauntering with wide eyes and a smile on his face for hours and then skipping his way to the little shop of the flower necklace, his mind blissfully full of colorful masks, Istrian stone statues and Renaissance architecture. Who needed alcohol when they could _travel?_ He didn’t notice the Iron Man graffiti painted on a wall opposite the entrance of the little shop. When he was finally holding the pretty sculpted piece of Murano glass in his hand, nothing else mattered anymore. It was even more beautiful in real life. He loved it, and if MJ thought it was stupid or ugly, he decided he would give it to his aunt. He bought May a whole family of tiny swans in Murano glass too. Now all he had to do was make sure he didn’t break them.

It happened really fast, as it always did. He had no time to prepare himself, to put his suit on, no time to think. It happened a few minutes after he was finally able to have a little chat with MJ, her knowledgeable self as usual spouting some interesting tidbit, this time on the Italian language. He was smitten, he really was, and therefore awkward and shy, almost physically feeling romance in the slightly smelly air of Venice, stomach full of little butterflies when she spoke to him, delightedly rid of all thoughts about Mr. Stark or the Avengers; and then some huge water monster _had _to show up in the middle of this perfect vacation.

_Oh no, why here? Why now? Couldn’t I have just one day like this? One day?_ He wondered if there was some malevolent god out there determined to keep him sick, tormented and madly in love with Mr. Stark. _Oh you thought you could get away that easily, Peter? Hahahahaha!_

The monster was _huge_ and completely made of water, he realized, when a string of his webbing shot right through it without affecting it whatsoever. It shattered some of the ancient beauties he had just admired and there were definitely some human casualties too, although Peter managed to stir it away from a crowd, jumping on a bridge and then grabbing a cheap Venetian mask to try and keep his identity hidden. If it was made of water and could do so much damage, then how the hell was he supposed to stop it?

And then he saw him.

Some flying guy with a fishbowl head, a superhero in a cape he didn’t know at all started shooting green lasers from his hands. He was fighting the monster with his magic and it was working! Peter helped as best he could, stopping an entire spire from collapsing and crushing people, giving them time to run away. Afterwards he was a little in shock but _very_ relieved that someone like that had taken care of that unexpected threat for him.

_He must be really strong_, Peter thought. _Maybe he’s a wizard like Doctor Strange? Maybe he’s part of his crew?_ _Maybe he’s a nice alien like the Insect Lady?_ _Oh crap, I still can’t remember her name…_

When he got back to the hotel, MJ gave him a weird look, and then his aunt called him; she had apparently tried several times already.

‘So, who was that guy that you were with? Was that Mr. Strange?’

‘Doctor Strange, May.’

‘Doctor Strange.’

‘And, um... No. I don't know who that was. He was a new guy. I was trying to help him, but...’

‘Hey, Happy! No, that's my lunch. Don't eat that one.’

_What… the hell?_

‘Happy's there?’

‘Yeah. It's Happy’, May giggled exactly the way she always did when she’d just said something she wasn’t supposed to. ‘He's here. He came by to volunteer… and… he's hanging around the office… and he wants to say hi.’

‘Hi, Peter’, Happy’s clearly reluctant voice rang out.

Happy was hanging out with his aunt for no apparent reason. That… was a new turn of events.

‘Hey, Happy’, Peter slowly said, frowning.

‘I'm sorry. I'm working real hard here. I gotta do a leaflet drop.’

What the hell was he even doing at May’s new office?

‘What are you even doing...’

‘I'm glad you're having a good time. Don't worry. I'm really taking care of your aunt.’

_Oh no. No, no, no, no, no._

‘So, uh, how's the plan going?’ May’s embarrassed voice was back.

‘There's... some setbacks, for sure.’

‘Don't ever think it. Just trust your instincts and you'll be fine.’

‘I know. Love you. Bye!’

May and Happy… He shivered. _Nope, not gonna think about _that, _definitely not._

They watched TV in their little hotel lobby, an Italian reporter fittingly calling the mysterious wizard in the fishbowl helmet _Mysterio_.

‘Cool name’, Ned and his new girlfriend Betty, Liz’s former best friend, said at the same time.

‘Babe!’ they then chanted together in delighted surprise.

_Yep, travelling definitely put romance in the air._ Peter was amused by that other new turn of events – how many were there gonna be during this trip? – but a little troubled too, to be honest. It meant Ned wasn’t spending as much time with him as he thought he would.

Mysterio… It would have been nice to know who he was, but it didn’t matter anymore now. The monster was gone and he was back to being a regular kid. Tomorrow he’d be in Paris, the city of love! He exchanged a few words with MJ, trying his best not to stutter. Yes, that whole water monster thing had just been a little hiccup in his journey… until Nick freaking Fury showed up in their bedroom, casually shooting a dart into his best friend’s neck…

_Oh man…_

Mr. Fury made him put his Stark suit on and leave the hotel, leading him onto a gondola. So much for forgetting about the Avengers for a while…

‘Stark left these for you.’

‘Huh?’

Hearing the name short-circuited his brain for a second. Mr. Fury was handing him something. It was a small box that looked like an eyeglass case. It _was_ an eyeglass case. Peter’s heart skipped a beat. In it was a pair of Stark glasses, exactly like the ones he’d seen Mr. Stark wear back in 2018.

_I’m cursed. Definitely cursed._

‘In case something big showed up, and that thing you fought today certainly qualifies as _big_’, the impressive head of the Avengers explained. Peter stared at the pair as if hypnotized by it.

‘Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. Stark said you wouldn’t get that because it’s not a Star Wars reference.’

‘I know it’s from Shakespeare…’ Peter mumbled in weak defense once he’d regained the ability to speak.

Fury led him into a secret underground base stinking of the Venice sewers.

‘Remove the mask; everyone here has seen you without it. You'd only be feigning anonymity and breathing through spandex for no good reason. Come on. There, we have Maria Hill. That is Dmitri. And this is Mr. Beck.’

The thought that arose in his head when he first saw him was that he was pretty hot. He hadn’t expected that. _Fuck_, did he have a thing for older men _in general?_

‘Mysterio?’ Peter stupidly said.

‘What?’

‘Doesn't matter. It's just what my friends have been calling you.’

‘Well, you can call me Quentin’, the man said, extending his hand. Peter shook it, trying to look tough. ‘You handled yourself well out there today. Saw what you did with the tower. We could've used someone like you on my world’, the man went on.

‘Thanks. I'm sorry, _your_ world?’

‘Oh, Mr. Beck is from Earth, just not yours’, Fury explained, Peter not even registering he’d just said _yours _instead of _ours_.

‘There are multiple realities, Peter. This is Earth dimension 616. I'm from Earth-833’, Mr. Beck explained.

_Oh. My. God._ Five whole pages of the journal he’d been reading for the past few days popped into his head, Mysterio’s revelation confirming a theory he’d been thinking about in an instant, only to trigger a dozen more mathematical problems in its wake.

‘I'm sorry, you're saying there's a _multiverse_? I thought that was just theoretical! I mean, that completely changes how we understand the initial singularity, we're talking about an eternal inflation system and how does that even work with all the quantum–’ he stopped himself when he saw Nick Fury and Maria Hill’s faces. ‘It’s _insane_! Sorry. It’s really cool.’

‘Don't ever apologize for being the smartest one in the room’, Mr. Beck said. 

_Wow, okay._ Peter instantly liked him. The man had kind eyes and a hot beard, not to mention a very cool costume, and now it was clear he appreciated science and intellect. When Peter learned what he had been through – losing his family and his entire planet to those monsters and yet he was still here, still fighting, still defending others – Peter felt an instant connection with him; an instant admiration. _Mr. Stark will like him too_, he thought. _Is he a scientist too?_

‘The science division had a technical name. We just called them Elementals. Versions of them exist across our mythologies. They first materialized on my earth many years ago. We mobilized and fought them, and every major scientist tried to find a way to stop them, but with each battle they grew and got stronger and in the end the science division was entirely decimated with most of the population before they could figure anything out. I was part of the last battalion left trying to stop them. All we did was delay the inevitable.’ 

‘We need a genius but Stark’s away’, Fury said.‘Communication with him takes up to 58 hours. We sent a message 6 hours ago, that still leaves 52.’ 

‘We’re on our own for this and we don’t have much time to prepare’, Maria Hill added, ‘the Elementals are here now, attacking the same coordinates. Our satellites confirm it.’ 

‘So thank Mr. Beck for destroying the other three. There's only one left. Fire’, Mr. Fury continued. 

‘The strongest of them all. The one that destroyed my earth. The one our science division was unable to stop…’, Mr. Beck trailed off, looking down. 

‘And it will be in Prague in approximately 48 hours’, Mrs. Hill informed him.

‘Long before Stark even knows they’re there’, Mr. Fury went on, staring at Peter. ‘All of our big heads are _gone_. Stark, Banner, Strange. They’re all off-world.’ 

_Shit._ Peter had a sense of where this was going and he didn’t like it at all. 

‘What about Shuri? Wakanda’s Head of Science?’ 

‘Gone too. She’s currently leading a science team doing some research in another system’, Mrs. Hill said. 

‘I– I’m sorry but… you surely can’t think I’m qualified to…’ 

‘We have one mission, kill it. And we have no idea how. All we know is that it comes from another dimension. Does that ring a bell?’ Mr. Fury raised an eyebrow at him. 

‘I – I don’t understand. I’m not qualified.’ 

‘You _saved_ him. You deciphered his notes. You just talked about quantum physics just now!’ the man exclaimed. 

‘I – the media made it sound like I was the one who saved him but _Shuri _did. I only vaguely recognized what his notes were about, what he wanted to do… and then she figured the whole thing out…’ Mr. Beck was staring at him, drinking his every word, his eyes shining with an intense interest.‘I don’t know how to go from one dimension to another! How did _you_ do it?’ 

Mysterio started a little before answering. ‘By accident. The one in Mexico sucked me into your world; apparently because of what your Avengers did with the Infinity Stones... I have no idea how it happened.’ 

‘If we could force the last one back into its original dimension and make sure it never comes back…’ Mrs. Hill said, grabbing her own chin in a worried and pensive pose. 

‘_You_ know what they _did_’, Nick Fury told Peter. ‘What _Stark_ did; to bring the Stones back. Don’t you?’ 

‘They… through the Quantum realm?’ he trailed off, looking at each of them in disbelief, ‘you… you wanna… _time travel?_’ Peter almost whispered. Beck’s eyes grew wide all of a sudden at that. 

‘As Tony Stark’s _protégé_, you know a great deal about his tech. You know about his work.’ 

‘I have no idea how he did it, I – we never really talked about it... He just showed me around his lab _once_. And then… I mean… I can read available data but… but it would take me _weeks_ to even come close to what he figured out. I can’t help you.’ Peter honestly said, and he saw Mr. Beck bend his head and sigh in disappointment. ‘Maybe it’s in there!’ Peter exclaimed, suddenly remembering about the Stark glasses. 

‘What’s that?’ Mr. Beck asked. 

‘His glasses! Mr. Stark’s glasses. They’re… they’re kind of like his computer. Maybe they contain all the data we need? You could have a look at it and… maybe understand a few things’, he said, handing the case to Mr. Fury. 

‘Do it.’ 

‘What?’ 

‘He gave it to _you_. Only _you_ have access to it.’ 

‘Oh… right…’, he awkwardly said, opening the case with shaky fingers, feeling all of their eyes on him. He put the glasses on. _Yeah, so much for forgetting about Mr. Stark..._ Mr. Beck’s eyes on him were more intense than ever. Nothing happened. 

‘Er… I don’t know how to…’

Nick Fury pointed at the case still in his hands with an annoyed air. There was a little note in it that had been put under the pair of glasses. 

‘Oh… sorry’, Peter huffed. 

_'I sincerely hope you won’t need those but in case you do, say Irma. I trust you. – TS'_, it read.

‘Irma’, Peter said. 

‘Standby for retinal and biometric scan’, a female AI chimed in. A picture of him appeared in front of his retinas, and Peter tried his best not to think about that day he had tried a pair like that on, in Mr. Stark’s lab… It seemed like a century ago now.

‘Retinal and biometric scan accepted.’ 

‘Hello?’ 

‘Hello, Peter. I am I.R.M.A, Tony Stark's augmented reality security and defense system.' 

‘He made you for _me_?’ Peter whispered shyly, glancing at Nick Fury, then turning away from them to focus on the AI. 

‘No. But you have access to all of Tony's protocols.’ 

‘Cool.’ 

‘Would you like to see what I can do? I.R.M.A stands for... _I Routinely Materialize Awesomeness_. Tony loves his acronyms.’ 

‘Yeah, he does’, Peter couldn’t help but laugh a little. 

‘I have access to the entire Stark global security network, including multiple defense satellites, as well as back doors to all major telecommunication networks.’ 

‘Whoa...’ He glanced back at Nick Fury. He was frowning, waiting for him to give them what they needed with obvious impatience. 

‘Um… Do you… do you have access to Mr. Stark’s scientific papers?’ 

‘I’m afraid not, Peter.’ 

‘Oh, okay. Thanks. Um... bye.’ 

‘Bye, Peter.’ 

He took the glasses off, turned towards them again, Mr. Beck weirdly flinching a little when he did, and he waited dumbly for them to react. 

‘You didn’t hear that? Oh, sorry. She – er, the glasses said that they don’t have any access to his science. But they can access the entire Stark global security network, I think that’s what she said… th– the glasses lady… Her name is Irma…’, he added awkwardly. 

‘This might be useful’, Mr. Beck suddenly said. ‘The problem is, if you shoot the fire creature, it will only make it stronger. We’ll have to keep it away from metal, and that includes bullets and any kind of other air strikes, unless your Mr. Stark designed some weapons made out of rock.’ 

‘We’ll talk more when we get to Prague’, Mr. Fury cut in. 

‘I'm sorry, Mr. Fury, but… I can’t go to Prague. Listen, this all seems like big-time, you know, huge superhero kind of stuff. And... I mean I'm just the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, sir.’ 

‘Bitch, please. You've been to space.’ 

‘I know, but that was an accident. Sir, come on. There's gotta be someone else you can use. What about Thor?’ 

‘Off-world.’ 

‘Okay, umm... Captain Marvel!’ 

‘Don't invoke her name.’ 

‘Sir, I really wanna help. I do. But if my aunt finds out I left my class trip, she's gonna kill me… And if I'm seen like this in Europe, after the Washington Monument, my whole class will figure out who I am, and then... and then the whole world will figure out who I am… and then, I'm done.’ 

‘Okay, I understand.’ 

‘I’m sorry, what?’ 

‘Why don't you get back before your teachers miss you and become suspicious?’ 

_Well, that was easy._

_Of course_, the next morning, when he saw a black tour bus with Dmitri waiting for his class group in front of it, he instantly understood Nick Fury had hijacked his summer vacation... The trip to Paris had been delayed and they were all going to Prague now, right where it was most dangerous to be… 

_Great._

Once on the bus he couldn’t help but have another look at the glasses, and just like he had done at the hotel the previous night, he took them out from their case and put them on, simply enjoying the feel of the pair resting against his face. _Mr. Stark… I wish you were here… I hope you’re doing okay…_

‘Irma?’ 

‘Hello, Peter.’ 

‘Hey… Is Mr. Stark okay?’ 

‘I have no direct contact with Tony right now as he is currently in another solar system, but I can send him a message if you’d like.’ 

‘No, no, no, thank you, thanks... Um… where is he exactly? I mean, how far away from Earth is he?’ 

‘Tony is 24,761 light years away. A message would however take only 58 hours to reach him with his newly updated telecommunication system.’ 

‘Oh, okay.’ _Holy shit._ ‘Um… Irma? How far is Titan?’ 

‘Titan is 8,265 light years away.’ 

There. Now he knew. _Shit_, why did he ask? He had to think about something else! 

‘Is MJ texting? No, no, no, no, no, I take that back, sorry… that’s… creepy.’ 

They took a break in a small Austrian village in the middle of the gorgeous Alps and Dmitri made him understand that was for him, pointing at the door of a house. _Okay, okay…_ Inside was a tall blonde woman who looked like a model. She was dressed in black and seemed… dangerous. She had been waiting for him to show up like in some James Bond movie.

‘Hello!’, he said, sounding like a 12 year-old. 

‘Close the door.’

_Okay…_

After he did, he walked awkwardly to her, politely extending his hand. 

‘I’m Peter Parker.’ 

‘Take off your clothes’, the smoking hot blonde spy commanded. It was like a Barbie version of the wet dreams he’d had of Mr. Stark.

_Oh god…_

‘Excuse me?’ 

‘You told Fury Spider-Man could not be seen in Europe. So I made you this. Another suit.’ 

_What the hell?_

‘Oh, uh, thank you’, he muttered, taking the folded black suit from her hands. ‘If you’re sure it fits then I don’t really need to try it on…’ he managed to add. 

‘Take off your clothes!’ she exclaimed again, impatient, as if getting naked in front of her was completely normal. 

‘Okay. Sure… Uh…’ She didn’t even turn. She just stood there, impassive, arms folded, quiet authority sipping through her own black suit. 

_Don’t get aroused, don’t get aroused, don’t get aroused._

‘It’s a little embarassing’, he muttered. 

‘Now!’ she interrupted him in a loud voice. 

_Oh my fucking god. Don’t get a boner, don’t get a boner, don’t get a boner._

‘Hurry up', she added.

This trip was getting weirder and weirder. 

‘This is… weird, huh…’ he whispered, pulling his pants down with shaky hands. 

_Of course,_ freaking _Brad_ had to show up at that very moment. He could almost hear the dramatic music upon his impromptu entrance.

‘No, no, no! Ah, don’t!’ 

‘Whooo!’ Brad gaped at the two of them in front of him, his gaze travelling down Peter’s legs to his pants now around his ankles. ‘Uh… sorry? Uh… I thought this was the bathroom.’ 

‘This is not what it looks like, just–’ 

‘Yeah…’ Brad said in low voice, meaning: _this is obviously _exactly_ what it looks like, dude_. And then the asshole took a picture of them with his phone. 

‘What are you doing? Brad!’ 

‘I’ll leave you two alone.’ 

The Barbie aimed at Brad with her gun when he walked out. ‘Don’t shoot anybody’, Peter ordered her.

‘Brad!’ he called out. ‘It’s not what it looks like, buddy!’ he walked up to him, zipping his pants back up. ‘Hey man, look…’ 

‘Look, Peter, I’m not here to judge your life choices, dude; if you wanna hook up with some random European chick on our school trip, that’s on you…’ 

‘That’s not what that was, honestly–’ 

‘I can’t pretend I didn’t see what I just saw… I must admit, I didn’t believe those crazy rumors before. But now I know...'

‘What? What rumors?’ 

‘Stop pretending, Peter. I know what I saw. And by the way, I know you’re trying to get with MJ, that’s obvious. I like her too…’ 

‘Wait a minute, hey… you cannot show that photo, dude, come on.’ 

‘I’m sorry, man, I have to. She deserves the truth.’ 

Yep, he was cursed. This was like a bad soap opera and it was _fucking reality_. How the hell was he going to stop Brad from sharing that now? That self-righteous jerk would tell MJ and then the rest of the class and Peter’s reputation would be ruined. He had to stop him… He had to get to his phone and… 

The drone strike he commanded was 100% accidental. How was he supposed to know such a crazy thing was _that_ easy to trigger? Shouldn’t Mr. Stark have put any warning or made sure Irma asked for some clear confirmation with a password or something? And how was he supposed to know making someone a target meant actually _killing_ that person!? It was like that Instant Kill Mode again! _Jesus, Mr. Stark!_

He barely saved Brad by shooting the drone first after jumping out of the bus roof hatch, all the while keeping his Spider-Man identity hidden by some ridiculous miracle. Imaginary baby mountain goats were apparently cute enough to successfully distract an entire bus from a drone attack. Go figure. 

‘Peter, I know you think none of us have noticed…’ 

‘What?’ His heart stopped. ‘…but your new look? I love it’, Ned’s girlfriend Betty smugly beamed at him. 

‘Thanks’, he blushed. Despite the circumstances and beyond his immediate relief, he was giddily happy to hear that. Someone thought he looked good in Tony’s– Mr. Stark’s glasses!

He flopped back into his seat with a heavy sigh of relief, and kept the glasses on his nose for the rest of the ride, trying not to feel too pleased about the fact he’d accidentally punched Flash during the attack. 

When they finally got to Prague, they were guided by Dmitri into a luxury hotel… _Super discreet, thanks guys… _

The entire next day there he couldn’t fully enjoy the guided tours in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. He kept counting down the hours until Mr. Stark got Fury’s message. But how long would it take him to come back? And anyway, Mr. Stark certainly wasn’t fit to help them right now. Were _all_ of the Avengers with him now? What about the Falcon? Where the hell was _he?_ The night before the scheduled attack, Peter was called in to a conference room inside the 5-star hotel, and there was Nick Fury, Maria Hill and Mr. Beck. ‘My name is Mysterio’, Mr. Beck later corrected him with mock gravitas and amused wide eyes, almost winking at him. Peter felt completely out of place and ashamed of what he’d done on the bus. He felt like a kid, which he _was_. How the hell was he supposed to fight a fire monster that had destroyed an entire planet with only a dude who’d already lost to it to fight alongside him? This couldn’t end well… Maybe he was going to die again… this time for good… 

‘Parker? Parker!’ 

‘Yes, sir.’

‘That thing is going to be here in a few hours. Are we boring you?’

‘He's not bored. He's just thinking about how you kidnapped him’, Mysterio said. _Exactly_, Peter thought. He _definitely_ liked Mr. Beck.

They went on to describe exactly how terrifyingly dangerous that monster was and the only thing he could think about was how this put his friends in danger.

‘Hey, man. My friends are here, and I can't help but think that we're putting them in danger.’

‘You're worried about _us_ hurting your friends? _You?_ Who called a drone strike on your own school tour bus?’ Nick Fury was pissed. ‘Stark gave you a multi-billion dollar A.R tactical intelligence system, and the first thing you do with it is try to blow up your friends. It's clear to me that _you_ were not ready for this.’

Peter’s stomach dropped. _I trust you,_ Mr. Stark had written. He had failed that trust. He had failed Mr. Stark. Fury was right, he wasn’t ready for this. When their meeting was over he needed to be alone, not at all in the mood to hear about Ned’s concerns about having sex for the first time. He had a massive headache and sought out silence, finding the rooftop of their hotel to be the perfect place for that. He stared at the beautiful city of Prague, all dark navy blue and orange in the summer night, and wondered if this was his last quiet time. A flash of his own death on Titan appeared in his mind. One of his last thoughts had been that he’d never had sex. Maybe Ned was having sex right now, he faintly smiled. He had to face the reality of being Spider-Man: his own life expectancy couldn’t possibly be very high given all the mortal danger he was regularly exposed to. If he survived this, he had to get his move on before it was too late. Maybe it already was… He thought of that gay couple lovingly fucking… It would be nice to experience something like that one day, but the thought he would possibly never have that chance was both heart-wrenching and strangely beautiful… He felt Mysterio’s approaching presence before he actually saw him fly up to him.

‘Look, Fury asked me to come up here and see how you were doing. He just… he felt bad about snapping at you.’

‘Really?’

‘You guys do have sarcasm on this earth, right?’

Peter smiled sadly.

‘How you feeling?’

‘I didn't think I was gonna have to save the world this summer. I know that makes me sound like such a jerk. I just... I had this plan with this girl that I really like, and... Now it's all ruined.’

Mr. Beck was now sitting next to him, watching the gorgeous city too.

‘You're not a jerk for wanting a normal life, kid. It's a hard path. You see things, you do things... make choices… People look up to you... Even if you win a battle, sometimes they die. I like you, Peter. You're a good kid. There's a part of me that wants me to tell you just... turn around, run away from all this. And then, there's another part of me that knows what we're about to fight; what's _at_ _stake_. And I'm glad you're here.’

‘Me, too.’

‘But... you're worried about your friends.’

‘Yeah. I just always feel like I'm putting them in danger.’

‘Look, just... get them inside and keep them in a safe place, for just a few hours. It'll be all right.’

Peter smiled.

‘It's really nice... to have somebody to talk to about… superhero stuff, you know?’

‘Anytime. And hey... we survive this, you'll have all summer to kill Brad.’

That made Peter laugh a little. Mr. Beck was such a good man. In such a short amount of time, he’d grown quite fond of him already.

‘See you out there.’

‘Alright.’

He asked Irma to book his entire Academic Decathlon class tickets for a four-hour opera; perfect to keep everyone safe. When he noticed MJ with a pretty flower-patterned dress on, her hair unusual combed down, his heart leaped in his chest. She liked flowers! She looked really pretty like that... Maybe he was going to die tonight. _Make a move. _

‘You look… really pretty.’ 

‘And therefore I have value?’ she replied in a classic MJ drawl. 

‘No. No, that was not what I meant at all’, he stammered. 

‘I’m just messing with you. You look… pretty too.’ God, he liked her. He liked her _a lot._

‘Thank you.’ 

_Of course,_ Maria Hill had to ruin this moment by speaking to him in the secret earpiece she had given him. He had to go. He asked Ned to cover for him again and, before leaving, turned to look at MJ again, now sitting right next to Brad in the front row. He would’ve given anything to stay with her right now, to push Brad away, to sit next to her and enjoy the opera, maybe awkwardly resting his hand above hers... And now he had to fight a monster that could destroy the world. Like Thanos… How many more were there? Was he going to spend his entire life like that, having to give up on a normal life? 

When it appeared, it was as big as he’d thought it’d be. Huge and invincible, growing by ingesting every metal object it came across. He was in his new black stealth suit the badass Barbie had given him, but his web shooters were completely useless against the monster. When he saw Ned and Betty on a little Ferris wheel right next to the monster, both of them shouting at him for help calling him _‘Night-Monkey’_, he started to panic. 

_No! What the hell are you doing here? What can I do, what can I do, what can I do? I’m not ready for this!_

‘Whatever happens... I'm glad we met’, Mysterio said once they had tried everything to keep the monster from growing and failed.

‘Beck, what are you doing?’ Peter asked, sensing desperation and a scary determination in the older man’s voice.

‘What I should've done last time.’ What? _What? _

‘Beck! Don't do it! Beck!’

He watched with horror as Quentin flew right into the fire monster’s chest, disappearing inside it. Miraculously, it worked. He didn’t understand why, but the monster was destroyed, defeated. Beck was on the ground. Peter rushed to him.

‘Mr. Beck?’ he cried out. He was breathing! He was moving! ‘Oh, thank God.’

How the hell had he survived that?

Nick Fury showed up immediately after.

‘That was the last of them. But not the last threat we'll ever face. We need to stay vigilant. There's a void in this world for someone like you’, he looked at Mysterio. ‘Hill and I are going to Europol headquarters in Berlin tomorrow. You should join us.’

‘Thank you. I just might take you up on that.’

‘You got gifts, Parker’, Fury turned to Peter. ‘But you didn't wanna be here.’

‘Mr. Fury, I...’

‘I'd love to have you in Berlin, too. But you've got to decide whether you're going to step up, or not. Stark chose you.’

Overwhelming shame clenched at his chest. ‘_I trust you.’_

‘He made you an Avenger’, Fury went on. ‘I need that. The world needs that. Maybe Stark was wrong.’

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry right now in front of the head of the Avengers. Don’t._

‘Was he?’, Fury glared at him with pity. ‘The choice is yours.’

_I’m not worthy of his trust_, was all Peter could think about now.

‘Let's get a drink’, Mr. Beck told him. Of course he’d heard their exchange. His eyes were filled with sympathy. _Yeah._ Yes, he needed some company right now.

‘I'm not 21’, he automatically replied.

They entered a small bar that was apparently filled with Czech and German government spies, Mr. Beck told him. He could take his mask off there, and Peter felt relieved.

‘Hey. We gotta celebrate. You did something good tonight’, Quentin said.

‘Fury was right’, Peter sadly replied in front of his glass of lemonade. ‘Tony did a lot for me, so... I owe it to him, to everybody...’

‘Do you?’

‘Yeah. I mean... Mr. Stark gave me a chance to be more. He wants me to be better than him... and Fury just wants me to live up to that…’

‘What do you want, Peter?’ Mr. Beck interrupted him.

‘What do you mean?’

‘What do you want?’ he simply repeated.

‘I don't know.’

‘What do you want, _you_, Peter Parker, _now_. I know you're thinking about it...’

‘I wanna go on my trip’, Peter suddenly exclaimed, feeling like he was in front of Susan again. ‘Right? I wanna go back on my trip, with my friends. And… go to the top of the Eiffel tower, with the girl who I really like, and tell her how I feel, and... give her a kiss!’ Mysterio was smiling teasingly at him. ‘Shut up, man.’

‘You're not gonna do that, are you?’

‘No, I can't.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I have too much responsibility.’

Mr. Beck took another sip of his beer. He waited a little to speak, frowning at his glass as if he was trying to decide whether to tell him about something or not.

‘I wasn’t supposed to tell you this, but Fury’s satellites have picked up another potential threat… an energy spike… seismic activity… again. But it’s weaker this time, so it could have natural causes… Anyway, we’re worried it might be another ripple effect of the infinity stones tearing a hole into–’

A woman suddenly bent over next to Peter, picking something up from the floor. Mr. Stark’s glasses! He’d _dropped _them on the_ floor? _What a _stupid, irresponsible_ prick he was!

‘Oh my God, thank you so much!’

‘Are those the...’

‘I.R.M.A glasses, yeah.’

‘It was on the floor?’

_Yeah, I’m totally not worthy…_

‘Try them on’, Mr. Beck suddenly said. ‘Let's see what they look like.’ Peter knew he was trying to make him feel better.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

He put them on and looked at Mr. Beck who remained silent. ‘I actually really like them’, he said, remembering Betty’s compliment on the tour bus.

‘Can I be completely honest with you?’

‘Please.’

‘You look really stupid.’

‘Oh.’

‘But maybe there’s a contact lens version of them.’

‘You try them on’, Peter suddenly said, taking the pair off and handing it to him.

‘No. Come on.’

‘Try them on’, he repeated.

‘I don't want... I don't wanna try them on.’

‘Try them on’, he insisted, almost dropping the glasses in the man’s lap. Mr. Beck finally grabbed the pair and put it on his face. _Wow._ He looked _really_ good in them. It was as if they had been made for him. He almost… he almost looked like _him_…

‘What do you think, kid? Peter?’

‘Mr. Stark _trusts_ me. I hope you won’t need those but in case you do, I trust you. That’s what he told me.’

‘What?’

‘Mr. Stark left me a message with those glasses. He told me _I trust you_ in case something showed up in his absence.’

‘I'm still not following. How many lemonades have you had?’

‘He knew every mistake I ever made, okay? So he must have known that I was not really ready for something like this.’

‘Then why would he give it to you?’

‘Because no one else was available! All of the other Avengers being away, it looks like he gave them to me so I could defend myself just in case... but maybe he trusted me to pick someone _actually_ fit to use them… Someone truly worthy of them... It makes so much more sense. He knows I would do what's right, and he didn’t give them to Fury because Fury already has access to similar weapons anyway, I guess…’ he trailed off, not that sure of his own hypotheses.

‘You're probably right about that.’

‘Right. So, Fury needs to get these back because I won’t use them anymore, and if _you _need to use them, if that threat you were talking about turns out to be real, you’ll need them. I’m _not _gonna go to Berlin. I mean, I'm a 16-year old kid from Queens. It needs to be an adult, with some experience, and that's good like Tony Stark, like _you_.’

‘No, Peter. Come on. No.’

‘Irma?’

‘Hello, Peter.’

‘Hi. Yeah, um... I'd like to transfer your controls over to Quentin Beck.’

‘Peter, what are you doing?’

‘Doing the right thing.’

‘Any transfer will require confirmation.’

‘Stark gave _you_ the glasses.’

‘Stark gave me a choice. It's my choice to make, okay? And I'm gonna make it. Look, you're a soldier, a leader, you stopped the Elementals. You saved my life, you saved the world. Okay? He'd want you to have them. You just go to Berlin and give them back to Fury and… and if something shows up again before the Avengers come back, you can use them, okay?’

‘Waiting for confirmation.’

‘Confirm. Welcome to the Avengers. They look good on you.’

‘Thank you. It's an honor.’

‘Yeah. Mr. Stark is gonna really like you’, Peter added, standing up, the huge weight of responsibility finally off his shoulders again, glad to have done the right thing.

‘Where are you headed?’

‘I'm gonna go find MJ.’

‘Good luck, kid. I give you about a 50/50 chance. You're pretty awkward, so...’

‘Yeah’, Peter laughed. ‘See you later, man.’

‘See you!’ He was finally free again! _Free!_ He skipped back to the hotel, determined to make up for his lost time as quickly as possible. A relieved Ned in a bathrobe hugged him tightly when he saw him. The trip to Paris had been cancelled after the fire monster attack. _Of course._ Yes, he was definitely jinxed. He took a proper look at Ned. He’d just been showering and then Betty called him over from her room. Were they going to…? And then he saw MJ. It was now or never._ Come on, Peter._

‘Hey’, he managed to say.

‘Hey. Where were you?’

‘Um.. I got lost...’ _Real smooth, Peter…_

‘They were worried about you. Good thing you're back.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So much for Paris, right? It would've been fun.’

‘Yeah...’ He couldn’t say anything else…

‘Night.’

‘Night. You look ni...’ he couldn’t finish before she closed her door to his face.

Well, that was awkward. He was _such_ a loser. How the hell had Ned done it? Where had he found all that confidence? Betty was really cute!

_Hey, come on, get a grip, Parker! Now or never, remember? Come on, remember your life expectancy, remember your plan, don’t be a chicken, you can’t afford to be! Carpe diem, come on! You can do this!_

He found the courage to quickly advance towards her door, ready to knock, but then it flew open, MJ suddenly right in front of him again.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey.’

‘Uh... Look, um... I'm not ready for this trip to be over yet, and I kinda wanna do something fun… that's not on the itinerary or planned… or with Mr. Harrington...’

He was being so, _so _awkward… _I’m definitely gonna die a virgin._

‘Yes.’

Peter was floored.

‘Yes, like… you wanna go?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. Awesome. I'll see you outside in ten minutes?’

‘Meet me outside in five minutes’, she said with a sweet little voice that was so unlike her usual bored drawl. It gave him _tingles._

‘Five is good.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay, bye.’

‘Bye.’

She was awkward like him. She was _adorable._

Five minutes later, in the hotel lobby, Peter was so nervous and happy and excited that he kept his eyes on a TV screen, watching an Italian news report about the mysterious Night Monkey to try and keep his breathing steady.

‘Hey’, she was suddenly there.

‘Hey.’

‘So, where do you wanna go?’

‘Who cares?’

‘Awesome.’

‘Okay. Let's go.’

This was finally happening! He grinned.

‘I'm glad we're doing this’, he told her, breaking the awkward silence between them while they were walking down a beautiful ancient bridge at 2am. Everyone seemed to have deserted the historical city center.

‘Yeah. Me, too’, she replied.

‘Just see the city a little bit...’

‘You know they used to execute people? On this bridge? They were like... in a basket and they would drown in the water.’

Peter smiled.

‘Sorry’, she added.

‘It's okay.’

She was probably thinking she was being weird and awkward and lame. He wanted to kiss her right then.

‘Uh... Look there’s this… thing that I've been wanting to talk to you about for... a while.’

‘Yeah?’

‘It's our last night in Europe, and I had this plan that I wanted to... tell you... I'm just gonna, I'm just gonna tell you’, he stumbled upon the words, nervously pulling the little case containing the flower necklace from his pocket, feeling like a man about to propose to his girlfriend. ‘Uh... MJ, I...’

‘... am Spider-Man.’

_What?!_

‘What?’

‘I just figured you were gonna say that you're Spider-Man.’

‘No. I'm not Spider-Man.’

‘I mean, I've been watching you for like, a while now. It's... kind of obvious.’

‘I'm not Spider-Man. I mean, what would make you think that I was Spider-Man?’

‘Peter, Washington?’

‘Yeah?’

‘The fact that you like, disappear? Out of nowhere? For no reason?’

‘No, that was, I was sick. Remember? I had my... the tummy?’

‘You know Suzan Yang thinks that you're a male escort?’

‘What? No, of course I'm not a male escort!’

‘Well then, you're Spider-Man.’

‘No, I'm not Spider-Man. At all.’

‘Well, what about tonight? When you snuck off and fought that thing, I saw you.’

‘You can't have seen me because I'm not Spider-Man! And also, on the news, it was the Night-Monkey.’

‘The Night-Monkey?’

‘Yeah. That's what it said on the news... and the news… never lies.’

‘Night-Monkey. Okay...’ Mj said, opening her backpack all of a sudden.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Well, do the Night-Monkey and Spider-Man use the same webs?’ she said, holding out a piece of tech wrapped in some of his webbing.

_Oh shit. She was so smart. She loved detective stories. Of course she would’ve investigated. Shit._

‘I mean, maybe. Maybe he's a Spider-Monkey, who knows?’

So… so all this time this had been just a sort of riddle to her? An exciting mystery to solve?

‘Were you only watching me because you thought I was Spider-Man?’

‘Yeah. Why else would I be watching you?’

_Oh_. That hurt. A lot. But he understood her. He was a pretty boring guy when he wasn’t Spider-Man…

‘Doesn't matter. Just thought that maybe...’

A huge cloud of light burst out of the piece of metal junk she was holding. For a few seconds, one of the Elementals was right above their heads, and then it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

‘The hell was that?’ Peter exclaimed, looking around.

‘I don't know’, MJ said, doing the same thing. It was clear that thing had come out of that thing she’d found after the fire monster attack. Peter extended a hand to stop her from coming closer to it, slowly crouching to pick it up from the ground.

‘What is it, like some kind of projector or something?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, but it's really advanced.’

‘It... It looked so real...’

‘Yeah, really real.’

‘Wait a minute, does that mean that...’

‘The Elementals are fake? That doesn't make any sense, because we were there, right? There was fire, and destruction, and... Who would do something like that?’

The projector sprang back to life again, projecting a clearer version of the same illusion this time, and he saw him. The blood drained from his face.

‘Mysterio?’ Peter whispered.

_Oh no. Oh no. Oh my god. _He turned around to face MJ again, needing some emotional support _right now._

‘I… am Spider-Man... and I really messed up.’

‘Wait, you're being serious right now?’

‘Mmh-hmm’, he confirmed closed-mouthed, still in shock.

‘You're not joking with me? Like you're 100% serious? Because it's not funny.’

‘No. I'm not joking.’

‘Because I was only like… 67% sure.’

‘MJ...’

‘So, why are you here? Why are you on this school trip?’

‘MJ, look, I know you have a lot of questions. But look, we really have to get out of here, okay?’

‘Okay. Okay. I can't believe I figured it out!’

_Shit._

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit._

Mr. Stark was gonna kill him.

_Fuck._

He had to go to Berlin right now. He had to tell Nick Fury. They ran back to their hotel, Peter explaining everything to her.

‘I can't believe I gave Beck those glasses. I mean, how can I be so stupid? He's probably spying on me right now or sending a drone to come and kill me.’

‘You had access to killer drones?’

‘Yeah, I didn't really want them especially after I almost killed Brad.’

‘You almost killed Brad?’

‘Look... I have to call Mr. Fury and tell him that Beck's a fraud, but... I think he tapped my phone number.’

‘Okay, so what are you gonna do?’

‘I need my suit, and I have to go to Berlin and talk to Mr. Fury in person.’

He didn't even think before he started to take his clothes off right in front of her. He caught the look on her face only once he was shirtless and suddenly stopped. She looked... she looked... shocked and _aroused_. He knew his body looked really good and for a second he relished that look on her face. He _wanted_ her to look. He just stood there, shyly but steadily showing off his chest to her, and she turned around only after a few seconds. _Oh my god, am I interpreting this right? She thinks I'm hot?_ He finished putting his suit on with a shy smile and a thrill in his veins.

And then Ned showed up.

‘Oh, Ned. Perfect.’

‘The costume looks great! For... For the costume party, at the princess castle...’

‘She knows. I told her.’

‘He didn't tell me. I figured it out', MJ smugly said.

‘Oh. That's cool.’

‘Like, a long time ago', she added.

‘Look, Mysterio was a fraud', Peter told him.

‘But he saved me and Betty's lives...’

‘No, he's been faking the whole thing with illusion tech.’

‘Yeah, he's using these, like, hologram projectors', MJ explained.

‘Whoa. That's... crazy.’

‘Yeah...’

‘So, you guys were like, working the case together, or what?’ Ned asked, still confused.

‘It's been mostly me', MJ said.

‘Look, Ned, I need you to call May, get her to call Mr. Harrington, say that she wanted me to stay with family in Berlin until this all blows over. Okay?’ Peter told him.

‘Got it. Easy.’

‘Wow. You guys lie with such ease', MJ remarked.

‘Gotta go', Peter said.

‘Wait, wait, wait... the projector. You're gonna need this', she told him, throwing him the piece of broken tech.

‘Don't tell anyone about this, okay? Anyone who knows is in danger', he told them before disappearing into the night.

* * *

‘Stark. Stark!'

‘Mmh?’

‘Message from fake Fury.’

‘Mmh…’

‘Tony.’

‘Speak to Legolas.’

‘It’s urgent.’

‘Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here?’

‘The kid’s in trouble.’

He opened his eyes at that, his head shooting up from the edge of the alien tub. He was fully focusing on what the Doctor was saying now.

‘Shoot.’

‘Earth is under attack. Elemental creatures from another dimension appeared through a hole as a result of the Stones being torn from their original dimensions before Steve Rogers brought them back.’

‘Okay. I need a minute.’ He closed his eyes again, letting his head drop back onto the edge of the tub.

‘Tony…’

‘Say that again?’

When Doctor Strange did, he then asked in a clearly dubious tone, frowning: ‘_Elemental creatures?_’

‘Yes. A wind creature appeared in Mexico on June 12 along with a wizard from the same alternate Earth who managed to stop it. Then a water creature appeared in Venice when Peter Parker was there and another one is currently in Prague as we speak. The most dangerous one. Fire.’

‘Venice?’

‘That’s what I said, yes.’

‘Wait a minute… Gosh, I had too many of those drinks…’ he lifted himself up from the tub, clenching its edges with his left hand and his now prosthetic right one, a faint pain still radiating within his entire body, not caring at all that he was stark naked and the wizard was right next to him. The latter turned his face away, averting his eyes with an annoyed look on his face while Tony wrapped his exposed aching body in a big yellow towel. His right arm had been replaced with a vibranium one he didn’t like at all. He’d work on this when he’d get home. ‘Let me get this straight... Right when we all leave Earth and our little Spidey’s on vacation in Venice, something shows up… in Venice. Doesn’t that sound suspicious to you?’

‘Maria Hill sounded quite concerned. This is a real threat, Tony. It caused quite a lot of damage there.’

‘You mean _fake_ Hill. Who’s the wizard?’

‘His name is… I can’t remember. Just come to the patio, but hurry.’

‘I can come right now’, Tony said, grabbing his cane with his metal hand and another one of those delicious alien fruits he’d been devouring for the last two days with his human one. He limped past Strange and went for the door of the therapeutic bathroom, not bothering to put any clothes on. Strange rolled his eyes.

‘His name is Quentin Beck... He’s a superhero from another Earth that was entirely destroyed by a fire creature drawing energy from the Earth’s core…’, Clint slowly read out from the message. Tony exchanged a look with Banner, then with Shuri, and then stared at Strange, tilting his face as if to tell him: _Don’t tell me you believed all that shit…_

‘Now what kind of bullshit is that?’ Shuri suddenly exclaimed.


	20. Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! For the record, the coordinates at the beginning of the chapter are real, including the questionable galactic coordinates for earth’s location according to the center of the Milky Way. 
> 
> QRW stands for Quantum Radio Waves.

**QRW CONTACT ESTABLISHED**

****From:** **179°56′39.4″ + 0°2′46.2″7, 940 ± 420 parsecs – 50.08804, 14.42076.

**Sent:** 06.17.23 – 2:35am GMT

**Message: TALOS TO REANIMATOR: PROBLEM SOLVED. NO NEED TO CONTACT FURY.**

‘There, told ya’, Tony said from his comfortable reclining seat in the alien spacecraft. It sort of looked like a throne compared to the other ones and he had fully taken advantage of that fact for comedic purposes.

‘Well, we’re not going back anyway so… doesn’t make any difference now’, Clint replied.

‘Doesn’t make any difference?! It’s great news!’ Banner interjected.

‘Yeah, it means no fighting when we get back. That stuff sounded scary... I’m glad it’s fake’, Rhodey added.

‘Harry Potter looks a bit disappointed there’, Tony glanced at Strange who was sitting in a much smaller seat like the others.

‘It could’ve still been _ real'_, the Doctor defended himself, turning his head away to avoid Tony’s mocking glare. ‘If I told you everything I’ve seen, even after what we’ve all been through, you still wouldn’t believe me.’

‘I object!', Tony exclaimed. 'And I’d _very_ much like to hear about your wonderful adventures, I’m sure they’d make great movies.’ Teasing the wizard was just too good. ‘Ah well… kinda liked it there... too bad we couldn’t stay for more space Shiatzu.’

That made Rhodey roll his eyes and piss ant exclaim: ‘You _ liked it there? _ They basically tortured you! I mean… sorry, sorry.’

The second day after their arrival, Tony had gone through the mystical species’ _ Grand Healing Ceremony _– that was how one of the tall, eerie-looking aliens had translated it. Several days later, he still couldn’t wrap his head around what happened.

The team of superheroes had all had to wait in a high-ceilinged white room while the ‘_Human Savior’ _ had been led into an adjacent one to be _ ‘healed’ _ in an ancient ritual strictly reserved to the ‘_most precious beings in the universe’_, no less – a category so restricted that Tony was apparently the first one in more than two earth centuries to be privileged enough to receive its benefits. He had _ very _ slowly turned towards Strange when they’d been told that, giving him a hilarious dramatic smug look, leaving the wizard torn between his usual annoyed air and a clear urge to laugh that he was unable to completely resist. _ Ha! Victory! _ He’d finally made Mary Poppins laugh! Tony hadn’t cracked any more jokes after that though, feeling humbled and a little emotional at receiving such respect and even reverence from a clearly _ very _advanced species.

‘They kind of freak me out’, he’d told Banner… and by _ kind of_, he’d meant _ totally. _

And then, it had started – the _ ritual_. Banner had nearly destroyed the whole place when the first blood-curdling scream of agony that could only come from Tony made them all jump. Danvers, who hadn’t left yet, had stopped him, keeping him from storming the door open.

‘Wait! I think this is how they do it! I think this is normal!’ she had shouted.

A flurry of shocked replies had come from the entire group all at once, so much so that it had been hard to tell who had said what.

‘You _ think?_’

‘_Normal?_’

‘What the hell are they doing to him?’

‘This isn’t right. This isn’t right!’

‘Oh my god…’

‘Don’t they have pain-killers in this _ advanced _ world?’

‘I’m totally fine’, Tony had said far too weakly afterwards, lying on a large bed.

‘What the hell, man! This is… this is _ wrong_… What the hell did they do to you?’ Banner had exclaimed, deeply concerned.

Tony had remained quite vague. ‘I don’t know exactly… something about pain being part of the gig…’, he’d just said, lifting his left hand and weakly agitating it as if he was just giving some incomplete but unimportant information. ‘Anyway it’s not like I could really _ focus_. And I agreed to it’, he’d added quickly. ‘Knew it would hurt like a bitch, and now it’s done’, he’d concluded matter-of-factly.

He was _ so _ going to have to go to therapy again now… But of course he hadn’t told them _ that_.

A huge _ Shayah _ – a word which, to his utter bafflement, both meant priest and scientist – had told them through their usual translator that they had given him a dose of _ ‘medicine’ _ which would continuously heal him during a span of five years. Danvers had assured him this was real. For literal millions of years, many species had apparently tried to steal the precious tech, but all had failed. Receiving it now was more than just an honor. It was a huge deal even for the Sensahyans themselves.

‘Five years?’

‘Kind of ironic…’

‘Symbolic…’

‘Did they do that on purpose?’

‘Probably.’

‘Guys, I am so freaked out right now...’ piss ant had just said.

He would _ ‘grow stronger’_, the aliens had told him. His right lung and right kidney would grow back; his right arm and right hand as well.

‘Homeostasis extended to full organs and limbs through neotenous processes…’ Shuri had slowly said after he'd reported the news to them, entranced. ‘I am so glad we made that detour’, she added, referring to her team’s last-minute inclusion to the ‘Re-Animator’ mission.

When Tony had asked what _ ‘stronger’ _ actually meant, one of the impressive beings had simply replied _ ‘healthier’ _after a strange pause.

There had been free cocktails and massages for everyone after that, but none of them had really been able to relax in such a strange, alien place despite the warm treatment they’d received. Shuri and her team had left early when it was clear the species wouldn’t share any of their science with them. Tony had been a very rare exception.

And then the rest of them had decided to leave early too in case this Quentin Beck was legit. The spooky aliens hadn't seemed mad about it. Tony had watched the strange white planet fade away, feeling as if he were taking part of it away with him, _within_ him. It was close to a small black hole apparently created by the Sensahyans themselves – ‘because, why not? Great scenery!’ Tony had joked. He'd watched that colossal mystery, or rather the light being sucked by it, gathered all around it, hyptonized by the awe-inspiring sight. Because of it, they had experienced time a little faster than on Earth.

‘Like in _ Interstellar?’, _Legolas had muttered.

‘Exactly’, Banner had replied.

They were 18 hours away from home now. The bright tunnel of stars was stretching around the front-view port of the alien spaceship exactly like in Thanos’s doughnut so many years ago. Yes, it was so long ago and yet, for a second, Tony had the feeling that if he looked to his left, Peter would be right there next to him, softly rambling on about his own brilliant theories on velocities greater than light speed… He’d had the same feeling while drifting off in the literal void of space after the snap, dying and daydreaming about Peter’s voice still whispering to him, but this time about death and infinity. During those five years, there hadn’t been only nightmares. He'd had sweet, peaceful dreams of the boy talking to him by the lake, explaining how death was so weird and unfathomable even for him who was, well… _dead._

‘_You’ll see Mr. Stark, it’s not that bad, it really isn’t, but it’s so weird just to be… nothing. Does that even make sense? It doesn’t, does it… I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, I’ll shut up now...’_

_ No, don’t, _he would always tell him in those dreams. But he always did.

This was how he had come to remember Peter. That gentle, sweet, _ sweet _ voice, those innocent wide eyes full of wonder and fear and intelligence, those endless hours, equally dreadful and blissful, stuck in an alien spaceship with _ him _ – him rushing towards death while calmly chatting about physics… He had woken up inches away from his sleeping face on that ship, and had simply watched him, watched him and watched him… He still occasionally fell asleep with that blue face in his mind five years later.

‘Tony? Tony!’

‘Yeah!’ Tony shouted back, pissed off to be woken up this roughly even if he hadn’t been truly asleep.

‘Sorry, but we’ve just received another message…’

Tony instantly knew something was wrong by Rhodey’s tone alone.

**QRW Contact Established**

**From:** 179°56′39.4″+0°2′46.2″7, 940 ± 420 parsecs - 40.71427, -74.00597.

**Sent:** 06.19.23 - 5:48pm GMT 

**Message: HAPPY HOGAN TO REANIMATOR: SECURITY BREACH CODE RED. I.R.M.A. STOLEN. ILLUSION TECH USED ON TALOS, SOREN AND PARKER. PARKER TARGETED BY BECK. INJURED BUT OKAY. P AND M OKAY. KID AND I HEADED TO LONDON. IMMINENT THREAT.**

* * *

‘Happy? Happy?’

‘You do know it’s past midnight here…’

‘Happy, listen!’ Peter’s panicked voice made the older man start, fully waking him at once, ‘that Mysterio guy is a fraud, he’s been faking the monsters with illusion tech!’

‘Listen, I – what? What did you say?’

‘Mysterio’s a fraud! He’s been faking the elemental creatures in Prague and in Venice’, Peter explained fast, his voice breaking a little. ‘I think he’s using drones and… and… Happy, I really screw up… I – I gave him I.R.M.A…’

‘What?’

‘I’m so sorry… I was so dumb… I’m going to Ber –’

‘Whooh, whooh, slow down, slow down… you gave _ who _ the glasses?’

‘Beck. Quentin Beck…’

‘The fishbowl guy Fury trusts?’

‘Yes. I’m on my way to tell Mr. Fury Beck’s a fraud. I have proof.’

‘He’s a fraud.’

‘Yeah.’

‘He’s been using drones to fake the monsters…’ Happy repeated.

‘Yes. Yes.’

‘And you gave him I.R.M.A.’

‘Yes.’ Peter confirmed in a hopeless, shameful tone. He sounded on the verge of tears.

‘I’m coming. Stay where you are!’

‘No! No, I’m going to Berlin to warn Nick Fury. Can you call him first? He’s meeting Beck there in –’

‘Nick Fury’s in _ Berlin? _’ Happy asked in a skeptical tone.

‘What’s going on?’ May’s faint voice could be heard all of a sudden.

‘May?’ Peter exclaimed, incredulous.

‘I’m calling him right now. Don’t do anything stupid.’

‘Happy, wha –’

Peter was going to ask him what his aunt was doing with him in the middle of the night, but it was probably better the man had hung up just at that moment. He came out of the stinky train station bathroom and gave the phone back to the nice elderly lady with the little poodle who had lent it to him.

‘Thank you so much.’

‘You’re welcome! My English is no very good’, she chuckled. ‘Was für ein tolles Kostüm! Beeindruckend!’ she added in German, apparently thinking his stealth suit was a fancy costume. Thank god for her, because he had asked more than a dozen people if he could use their phones before finding her; half of them had simply run away crying out '_ Night Monkey!' _ while the other half had all said _ ‘Ne, promiň’ _, which he assumed meant ‘no, sorry’ in Czech.

After exchanging goodbyes with her, he heard shouts. He turned around just as another woman shrieked on his right, and saw three policemen coming at him, two of them aiming their guns at him. He easily jumped away but then had to hide from the Czech police for a good twenty minutes before a EuroCity train bound for Berlin finally left the station around 6:30am. He jumped on the roof of the train, careful not to touch any of the dangerous cables there, and lay down.

The train ride lasted more than four hours.

The black suit protected him quite well against the strong winds produced by the speed, and it was kind of thrilling to be rushing through the European countryside early in the June morning on top of a freaking train. What a life he had… He missed his other suits, though. He missed Karen. How strange not to be engulfed in the skin-tight tech Mr. Stark had designed for him… This one was comfortable enough, but he felt weirdly bereft.

_ Mr. Stark is gonna kill me… He’s gonna be so disappointed in me when he finds out… I’m not worthy… I gotta make this right. I can’t screw up again. _

It was a beautiful lukewarm morning in the Czech Republic on June 18, 2023. He watched the stunning scenery to distract his mind from all the dread and to keep himself from falling asleep, enjoying the view of pretty forests, hills and villages on the other side of the river the train was rushing by, making a mental note that if he lived long enough to be able to do, he would visit this part of Europe again as a free tourist this time, maybe with May, or MJ… He thought about her and about the little Black Dahlia necklace he’d managed to slip into one of the small reinforced cases in the belt of his stealth suit when he’d changed next to her… He didn’t know why he’d brought it with him… Maybe as a lucky token… The passing landscape was so pretty… The steady rhythm eventually beat his resolve, lulling him to sleep for a couple of hours. Train rides were nice… He woke up as soon as it came to a halt, stood up on the roof and stretched, almost giving a poor man a heart attack.

‘I’m not a terrorist!' Peter quickly said in a high voice. 'Uuh… police!’ he shouted lamely.

‘Night Monkey!’, the man shouted in a strong German accent, pointing at him. _ Great… _He swung himself to the roof of the train station.

He was in Berlin.

_ Quick! Oh shit, where do I go now? _

The suit was comfortable indeed, but missing all the Stark tech that would have easily led him where he needed to go not to mention the dozens of webshooting combinations Mr. Stark had created for him. He tried to borrow a phone again, cursing himself not to have thought about the issue before when he still had Happy on the phone, but he basically got the same reactions as in Prague.

‘Not the Monkey!’

‘Oh man…’

He would have laughed had the situation not been that serious.

A black Mercedes suddenly pulled over right next to him. _ Nick Fury. _

‘Get in!’

He tried to tell him everything right away but the man insisted he talk once they would be ‘secure’. He was so nervous he ended up breaking yet another seatbelt, only this time it wasn’t in his aunt’s old car… _Whoops..._

Fury led him into an impressive modern building with huge glass curtain walls and when they finally reached the conference room where it was secure to talk and Hill was waiting for them, he explained everything to them while showing them the piece of broken projector.

‘I think he’s using drones.’

‘Well, if this is true then Beck's very dangerous and we need to be smart. Who else did you tell about this?'

Peter sensed him then. Beck. He was here.

'Parker? Parker!’ Fury shouted.

‘What's wrong?’ Maria Hill asked.

‘It's Beck. He's here’, Peter replied.

‘What?’

‘Hill?’ Nick Fury said just as her image started disappearing. And then, to Peter’s horror, the entire modern building started to vanish, shifting into another place entirely through a sweeping curtain of bright blue pixels.

‘No, it's just an ill...’

A blast cut him off, his superhuman reflexes making him duck at the last nanosecond. Fury was hit.

‘Fury!’

Distracted by the need to help him, he couldn’t react this time. A drone shot him right in the heart and the force of the blast projected him backwards, making him fall down several floors into what was now clearly an old abandoned building. He landed onto hard concrete, the double trauma of the gunshot and the fall knocking the air out of his lungs. He stood up and looked at his own chest, checking if there was any blood sipping out of it, crushing pain and panic making it hard for him to catch his breath. Beck’s voice was resonating all around him, but he couldn’t see him.

_ 'Wow, Peter. Wow. I thought we were close. Fury always had to die. But not you.’ _

He was surrounded by drones. They were all aiming at him, their green lasers all pointed at his chest.

‘Stop hiding, Beck!’ he shouted.

He shot a string of web at one of them, but it disappeared as soon as it was hit. He couldn’t tell if things were real or not. _Oh God..._

_ ‘I tried to help you walk away! Now you're making me do this!’ _

His entire environment was shifting into another one again. He glanced at his feet and saw his black suit transforming into his first Stark suit. He was in deep darkness, but then he saw some light in the distance, and suddenly, a ray of neon ceiling lights crashed into place above his head as a hall formed around him. He was inside a nightmarish version of Midtown Tech, all dark and green and unpredictable. Mysterio was in front of him now, wearing his fishbowl helmet.

_ ‘You told me, you were just a kid!’ _

Peter tried to shoot webs at him, but green smoke erupted from his webshooters.

_ ‘You told me…’ _ He was right behind him! He punched him, only to have his fist painfully colliding with a wall, _ ‘…you wanted to run after that girl!’ _

‘Help me!’

‘MJ!’

He was on top of the Eiffel Tower now, except everything was still dark, green and smoky, making him think of the fog machine of his high school theater.

‘Peter? What's going on?’ MJ asked, her voice small and scared.

_ No, no, this isn't real. _

‘I know this isn't real!’ he cried.

_ ‘Do you, though?’ _Mysterio appeared right behind her, grabbing her by the neck before throwing her into the void.

‘MJ! MJ!’ He went after her, falling with her, before he hit the ground again, face first.

_ ‘I don't think you know what's real, Peter – Peter – Peter...’ _Beck’s voice echoed. The ground abruptly rushed under Peter's feet at a blinding speed, all rays of green and yellow, making him dizzy and disoriented. And then it stopped. Peter looked up.

Right above his head, colossal and weirdly distorted, was Stark Tower.

_ ‘I mean, look at yourself… going after a girl when you know, deep down, it isn’t you.' _

He sensed some threat on his right and tried to shoot webs at it, only for a piece of hard pipe to come tumbling down next to him with a loud reverberating noise.

‘_Who are you really, Peter?’ _

‘Parker!’

Peter turned around at once towards the voice he loved so much, slightly crying out in surprise. _ Mr. Stark! No. No, this isn’t real. _His mentor was walking towards him from a distance. He stared at him, entranced, before the whole setting collapsed.

_ ‘I mean, look at yourself.’ _

All around him were mirrors now. He tentatively lifted his hand towards one, looking back at his scared masked self.

_ ‘Such a fanboy... so weak... You… are just a scared little kid… in a sweatsuit!’ _

The Stark suit was gone. He was back in his old homemade suit.

_ ‘Or _ are _ you? Are you really, Peter? As innocent as you look?’ _

And then, to Peter’s utter shock, his own reflection in the dozens of mirrors around him shifted to his own body wearing nothing but his Iron Man boxers and the Stark Spider-Man mask. His right hand was inside his boxers and his left one was caressing his chest. Peter couldn’t talk. He gasped in horror and couldn’t do anything but stare dumbly at himself, upset to the core. He knew Mysterio was twisted, but not _ that _ twisted, not like _ that _. No. No. And then he heard it, loud and clear – his own voice. His heart stopped.

_ ‘Tony!’ _

_ ‘Oh, I think not!’ _ Beck slowly chanted in a horrible teasing tone.

Peter fell to his knees. _ No. _ The feeling he’d had... The paranoia... It hadn’t been in his head. It had been _ real. _ Beck had been _ spying _ on him.

_ ‘Stop lying to yourself, Peter. Stop pretending. Stop trying to be good when deep down, you know you’re bad.’ _

His own orgasmic moan was being repeated in an unbearable, mortifying echo just as Mr. Stark suddenly reappeared inches from his face. Peter fell backwards with a cry.

_ ‘Tony!’ _

He pressed his hands hard against his ears, trying to block all sounds and failing.

‘You okay, kid?’ the fake Mr. Stark said, worry in his deep brown eyes.

_ ‘Tony!’ _

He was fake but he looked so real – so unbearably real. Peter couldn’t help himself and stared back into his eyes.

_ ‘Tony!’ _

‘Stop! Stop!’ Peter cried out, shrinking from the fake figure and hiding his face again. If he closed his eyes, he couldn’t be tricked anymore. Beck clicked his tongue in mock disapproval.

_ ‘Wow, Peter, wow… You’re really in deep, aren’t you? Is it the power? The money? Or is it just your daddy issues?’ _

He kept his eyes tightly shut, terrified of what he would see if he opened them.

_ ‘I sure hope it’s not because of his genius, because it’s all fake, you know that, right? His own perfectly planned _ illusion _ …' _

He couldn't block Beck's voice. He couldn't. Damn his enhanced hearing!

'_Stealing_ _ other people’s work for his own enjoyment… His entire life taking all the credit, reaping all the profit… Not to mention all the war crimes...' _

'Stop! Stop...', Peter's grip on his own ears was painfully tight now, his face scrunched up in pain. He was panting.

_ 'Oh yeah… Your precious Tony's a murderer... But you do know that, don’t you? Of course you do. You see, at first I thought… the kid’s just a fanboy, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t really know who Tony Stark really is, what he’s done, what he represents. But you do, don’t you?' _

'Shut up!'

_ 'You’re smart as a whip… too smart not to know about Iraq, about Afghanistan… about what he’s done, what his company’s done… too smart not to know his tech could change the world and yet he doesn’t share it…' _

'Stop... Please stop...' Peter weakly begged, full-on sobbing now.

_ 'Oh yeah... you know. You know and yet you still love him. Well, that can only mean one thing, Peter: you’re just as bad as he is.’ _

‘Shut up!’ Peter shouted, opening his eyes and instantly regretting it.

In front of him was a giant portrait of Ben.

_ ‘What would _ he _ have thought about your little crush?’ _

Peter was speechless again.

_ ‘Did you wanna fuck him too?’ _

He screamed, his hands flying back against his ears. If he screamed, he wouldn’t hear. Suddenly, his senses picked up an acute threat and he ducked. He was knocked over by a blast. He’d been shot on his left shoulder. Beck had been aiming at his head. Peter stood up, frantically flailing about, panting, and then he was falling, falling off a building. He landed on a car, hard. He got back on wobbly feet, turning around and around again like a mad man. He was back in the real world, outside the abandoned building, the sun painfully bright against the light walls, dirt and rubble. But then the real world vanished once again.

‘Stop! _ Stop!’ _, he cried out, ‘What do you want? Why are you doing this?’

He was back under Stark Tower. No. It wasn’t the tower. It was a statue. Colossal, oppressive. A statue of Mysterio, arms crossed, looming over him. Beck was talking again while the illusion morphed into crazy visions of the mad man all powerful and unbeatable, Peter reduced to a small puppet bouncing about the fake settings, narrowly avoiding a crane crashing down right next to him after he's shot some web at Mysterio. He didn't know what was real. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to escape.

_ ‘I created Mysterio to give the world someone to believe in! I control the truth! Mysterio is the truth! Because what is the truth today anyway? Tony Stark, the modern Jesus? This is what we’re supposed to believe in right now? No. All I needed was a way to shatter that truth, but I knew I couldn’t do it alone, I couldn’t fight the all-powerful manchild without getting my hands on his little toys! Oh, but I never expected to get them all in one go. I thought I would need you a little longer, Peter, but now… I don’t need you anymore. I got what I wanted and so much more… So much more, Peter… Time travel? I certainly wasn't expecting _ that! _Thank you. Thank you for that! You… you made your choice. All you had to do was step aside. And now, you ha –‘ _

The illusions stopped at once, the sunlight flicking back in an instant above them, Beck’s face frozen in shock. He’d been shot. He collapsed onto the ground. Behind him, a gun in his hand, was Nick Fury.

‘Fury!’ Peter shouted, relief washing over him. He felt the urge to run into his arms like a child but managed to control himself. Fury looked hurt. He limped towards him.

‘Beck's people... we're trying to find everyone who could expose him. Who'd you tell? I know you told someone. So, just tell me...’, Fury pressed on.

‘Okay...’

‘Who did you tell?’

‘Uh…’ Peter’s head was still fuzzy, still disoriented.

‘Who _ else _ did you _ tell _?’

‘Just Ned and MJ from my class!’, Peter blurted out, ‘and maybe Ned told his girlfriend Betty, but that's it’, he added, voice shaking.

Nick Fury stared at him and then _ laughed. _

‘What?’

‘You... are so dumb.’

‘What?’

‘I mean, as I said, you're smart as a whip. Just a... sucker.’

Peter watched in stunned horror as Fury turned into Beck, the _ real _one this time, or was he? His voice wasn’t coming from everywhere all at once anymore. He was right in front of him. Peter was paralyzed by fear. Big shards of green glass and pieces of rubble were suddenly crashing around him. He was back into Mysterio’s nightmarish world. His body avoided them by instinct even though his mind knew they were fake.

‘Now all your friends have to die’, Beck told him matter-of-factly. ‘It's easy to fool people when they're already fooling themselves. But for what it's worth, Peter... I really am sorry.’

He sensed it, but too late, the _train._

The pain was unlike anything he’d ever felt. He couldn’t possibly survive this. His brain seemed to _ float _ in that thought for a second, his soul leaving his body, time freezing in white shock and brutal _ disconnection_. But then he felt himself being torn apart. _ Literally. _ He felt his skin, his muscles and his bones break then resist the complete tear, like an elastic _ whole _ struggling to pull itself back together, and they did, matter pushing itself back where it belonged, nerve-endings screaming in blinding agony in the process. It all probably happened in a fraction of a second, but he didn’t black out during it. _God,_ he didn’t. Why didn’t he? He didn’t utter a sound, though.

When he could properly form a single, simple thought again, he realized where he was. His body had attached itself by instinct on the side of the train. His feet were grazing and hitting the rushing ground. He was flapping onto it like a puppet, almost falling under the speeding train. It was fast, really fast. It dashed into a tunnel. Peter managed to hoist himself up and it was only when he was securely stuck against the train hull that he screamed. It started as a long, plaintive moan, and then he drew a long breath of air inside his bleeding lungs and he _exploded._ He couldn’t stop. His scream went on and on, coming from the bottom of his soul, his agony muffled by the mask and the powerful wind, and then it turned into loud gasps and groans of hot pain.

He was alive. He was alive. He was alive. But _ God _ did it hurt.

He was an atheist. There had never been any doubt about that. Especially after Ben died. There was no God, he was 100% sure of it. But now… right now he wondered if there was one after all. A _bad_ one. A malevolent one. A mad, selfish, sadistic God who had a blast watching him suffer over and over again.

Had he deserved this? Had he? Who did? _ Who? _

He didn’t know how he mustered the will and the courage to open the closest door and drag himself inside one of the train cars, but he did. His body was still at work; at work pulling itself back together. He couldn’t form any coherent thought. The pain was too much.

He passed out.

* * *

_ Injured but okay… Injured but okay… For fuck’s sake, couldn’t he be more specific? What the fuck does that even mean? He’s Spider-Man! He survived being punched by the Gauntlet with 4 Infinity Stones on it, for fuck’s sake! I saw it with my own eyes! I know what he can take! What the _ fuck _ could possibly have left him _injured?

Tony was mentally pacing back and forth on his alien throne, which actually meant he was just jerking his right leg and tapping his left hand nervously onto the armrest, looking down, _thinking. Quentin Beck… _ _Illusion tech…_ He remembered firing a self-centered jerk who’d given him the idea for B.A.R.F… He couldn’t remember his name, though, but it hadn’t been Quentin Beck, that he was sure of. If this was the guy, he had changed it for obvious reasons. If the asshole got his hands on his time travel files…

‘He said he was okay’, Strange’s voice interrupted his conjectures.

‘What?’

‘Peter. He’s okay.’

‘Why do you care?’ Tony snapped.

There was something in the Doctor’s eyes. Sympathy. Understanding. Tony didn’t like that at all.

‘What?’ he snapped again, louder this time. _ What exactly did he see all those years ago? _ he suddenly wondered. Had he seen… _ that? _

‘The message was sent– ’

‘I _ know _ when the message was sent. I _ know _ we can’t possibly be there on time. Now can you just shut up so I can properly _ think _?’

Rhodey cast a worried look at his friend. Strange gave up and walked away.

‘I shouldn’t have left, I knew it', Tony said, eyes under his robotic right hand. 'I should’ve insisted they bring their tech to Earth. They basically worship me, I could’ve struck a deal’, he spoke fast, his voice rough and bitter.

‘Tony, you heard Danvers', Clint said. 'There’s no way they would’ve accepted. Never in their–’

‘Well they never had _ me _ before ’, he interrupted his friend. Rhodey sighed. ‘If that son of a bitch got I.R.M.A…’ Tony trailed off.

‘What were you _ thinking? _ ’ Banner suddenly spat. ‘Giving that to a _ kid? _’

‘I trust him’, Tony immediately replied.

‘You _ trust _ him? Well that turned out pretty well, didn’t it?’

‘Wasn’t his fault’, Tony muttered.

‘How d’you know that? He’s _ sixteen, _ Tony! What the hell did you expect? You made him an easy target!’

Tony set his jaw, keeping himself from insulting his green friend – guilt, anger and his own ego making his blood boil.

‘I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch as soon as we get back. Mark my words.’

* * *

Peter heard voices above him. He opened an eye and saw a blue one very close to him.

‘Gaat het wel goed?’

‘Ik denk dat hij zwaar gewond is. Hij bloedt!’

‘Hij ademt echter behoorlijk. Hij lijkt in orde.’

He passed out again, feeling more exhausted that he'd had in his entire life. When he woke up, he was in a small jail in the middle of the Netherlands. His body hurt all over but he wasn’t in agony anymore. He soon remembered Beck's words.

_ ‘Now all your friends have to die.' _

_Happy._ He had to get out of there and call Happy!

He easily escaped the ‘_Municipal Holding Facility’ _, as the friendly Dutch soccer fan had said, and stepped out into a small, charming little town on a warm, sunny afternoon, the peacefulness of the place such a vivid contrast with what was going on inside his head. The first person he asked for his phone gave it to him with no hesitation whatsoever and a polite smile on his face.

‘Everyone’s so nice here.’

He called Happy who told him he was only an hour away, thank God. When he finally saw him in the middle of a tulip field, coming out of his small high-tech jet, Peter had a flash of fake Mr. Stark walking towards him from a distance and he had to make sure this wasn’t another one of Beck's twisted illusions.

‘Peter? Are you okay?’ Happy shouted.

‘Happy, is that you?’

‘Is it me? Yeah, of course it's me!’

‘Stop! Tell me something only you would know!’

Happy thought about it for a few seconds, and then he shouted: ‘Remember when we went to Germany? You pay-per-viewed a video in your room? They didn't list the titles but I could tell by the price it was an adult film at the front desk and you didn't know how I knew?’

‘Okay! Okay, fine, it's you! It's you, stop’, he couldn’t bear thinking about that now, especially after what Beck had done to him. He rushed over to Happy and couldn’t control his urge to hold a friend anymore. ‘It's so good to see you’, he breathed into Happy’s shoulder. The man was taken aback.

‘Peter, you've got to tell me what the hell is going on here.’

He did. He told him everything. Well, almost everything, obviously. When it came to the most humiliating, painful part, he stuttered and then burst into tears. Happy stayed rooted to the spot, before he took him in his arms again. Peter couldn’t stop crying.

‘I – I … he… he spied on me.’

‘What? What do you mean?’

‘With the drones… he spied on me…’

‘Kid, how many times do I have to tell you… Be _ specific _.’

‘I can’t… I can’t… Ow. Ow!’ He cried out in pain when he tried to lean back against one of the seats.

He took his suit off, still quietly heaving, and Happy asked him to show him his wounds. Peter tried to lift his shirt up with a pained moan and Happy froze. The entire right side of his body - from his chest around to his back and up to his right shoulder - was _ dark purple _ , and the black T-shirt he’d had under his stealth suit was stuck to his back. Happy tried to pull it off but the boy cried out in pain. It wasn’t just stuck. It was _ inside _ his own body.

‘What the hell did they do to you?’ Happy whispered, his voice full of fear.

A wound hadn’t properly healed, taking part of the black suit into his flesh as it had struggled to reform right after the traumatizing hit. That was probably where the train had first come into contact with his body. Happy had to tug at the fabric stuck under his skin, Peter struggling not to cry out again, gritting his teeth, the pain making him feel nauseous. He managed to pull it out but it left an open wound. Peter stared at a drop of his own blood that had fallen onto the floor of the jet, entranced.

Happy began to stitch the wound together.

‘Okay. Hold still. Here we go.

‘Ouch’.

‘I thought you had super strength?’

‘It still hurts.’

It was a faint pain compared to what he’d experienced earlier that day, but he couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear being in pain anymore. That and the confession that was dangerously at the tip of his tongue, it was all too much.

‘Alright, relax. Just a few more...There we go’, Happy told him, Peter feeling the needle slowly breaching his skin again. He abruptly shot up to his feet.

‘Oh, my God!’

‘Relax!’

‘How can I relax when I messed up so bad?' he cried out, freaking out. 'I trusted Beck. Right? I thought he was my friend, so I gave him the only thing Mr. Stark left behind for me and now he's gonna kill my friends and half of Europe, so please, do not tell me to relax.' He sat down onto another seat, bringing a hand to his upset face. ‘I'm sorry, Happy. I'm sorry. I shouldn't shout.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘No. No, it’s not. It’s not okay’, Peter said, his voice cracking, his eyes red and puffy. ‘He’s after time travel’, he finally said. Happy didn’t seem shocked.

‘I know. He sent drones to Tony’s house.’

‘He what?! Wh–what happened? Is everyone okay? Did he...’

‘Yes and no. Pepper was there with Morgan and… Tony’s not the only one able to operate Iron suits, remember? And you know Tony. The house is well-protected. They’re safe now. But they did steal some tech.’

‘Oh my god, Morgan! She must’ve been really scared!’

‘Pepper tried to make it look like a game, but yeah… she’s a bit shaken.’

Peter was shocked.

‘They stole… _they?’_

‘I very much doubt Beck’s acting alone.’

Pepper nodded, his eyes still wide.

‘What did they steal?’

‘Tony’s main holo table and some notebooks. But trust me, he’ll be back before they crack anything, if they ever could. The problem is now your friends and… well… PR…' When Peter looked at him for an explanation, Happy added: 'I don’t think the world’s ready to hear that time travel’s real…’

_Oh my god…_ The repercussions of that… Peter hadn't thought about that... It was like the secret of the atomic bomb… only even _ bigger _ than that…

‘You think they’ll tell everyone? You think people will believe them?’

‘I don’t know, kid… Beck sent Pepper a message saying he would expose everything, so I guess that includes I.R.M.A and yeah, time travel…’

_Expose everything..._ Peter shivered.

‘Happy…’

‘Yeah.’

He couldn’t speak.

‘Kid, you gotta tell me what he did to you, and I mean specifically this time.’

Peter was breathing hard, paralyzed by shame.

‘How did he do that?’ Happy asked in a gentle voice, pointing at Peter’s still healing back. 'You haven't told me yet.'

‘Train…’, Peter croaked.

‘What? You – He hit you with a _ train? _’

Peter nodded.

‘But… what do you mean a train? Did he… throw it at you?’ Happy was frowning in disbelief.

‘No’, he took a deep breath, ‘he lured me… onto the tracks… with illusions… I didn’t know where I was… and then when I felt the train coming, I –‘, his voice broke again.

‘Jesus, kid…’, Happy breathed, eyes wide in horror. A full minute of silence after that, he just added: ‘Well, you’re okay now.’

Something about Happy's tone made anger flare up in Peter’s chest. ‘_No._ No, I’m not _ okay _ ’, he spat. He was shaking his head, breathing hard, glaring down, looking on the verge of freaking out again.

‘Look at you', Happy went on, trying to calm the boy down. 'You got hit by a train and you're talking to me right now as if–’

‘I’m in love with Tony.’

There was dead silence. Happy stared at him as if he was seeing him for the first time, frozen in shock, and then he sat back in his seat with sad, embarrassed eyes. Peter started crying again, taking his head in his hands.

‘I’m sorry… I can’t help it… Beck knows… he… he spied on me… he threw that in my face… illusions…’

‘Fuck’, Happy whispered, and Peter almost didn’t catch that even with his enhanced hearing.

‘I’m not worthy…', Peter bitterly whispered, eyebrows lifted in despair. 'He trusts me… but I’m not… I’m not who he thinks I am…’

Happy sighed heavily. After a moment he spoke, his voice still gentle. He wasn't mad at him.

‘Tony’s my best friend, and he’s a mess. He second-guesses everything he does. He’s always all over the place. The one thing he didn’t second-guess was picking you.’

‘Well he should. I was so dumb… naive… and…and... I’m _ sick _.’

‘You’re young’, Happy corrected. ‘You made a mistake, but you weren’t the only one making it. Fury bought it. Hill bought it. And Peter… it’s 2023. If what you’re saying is what I think you’re saying, remember, being gay is totally –’

‘I’m not gay’, Peter cut him off almost with disgust. ‘And how can you… how can you think _ this _ is okay?’

‘Because it is. You think you’re the first guy to get a crush on Tony?’

‘It’s _ not _ a crush’, he spat a little too aggressively. ‘It’s not a crush’, he repeated, weaker this time. He started crying again, softly this time, almost silently.

‘Yeah, that stuff hurts… Believe it or not, we’ve all been through it’, Happy went on.

‘If– if _he_ finds out about it… Happy…’, he sobbed, ‘Happy… I don’t know what I’m gonna do…’

‘You’re gonna be crushed', Happy bluntly said. Peter stared at him before looking at his own feet in shame. 'You'll feel ashamed, humiliated', the man went on. 'You’re gonna feel like it’s the end of the world, but kid, hey, look at me.’ Peter did, despair shining through his young, wet eyes. ‘You’re gonna be okay. Because it’s _ fine_. It’s okay. It really is. You– you think Tony–’ Happy suddenly stumbled on his own words, Peter frowning slightly at the strange way he also started fidgeting in his seat, ‘you– you think Tony’s gonna be mad about this? You think he isn’t used to people… he…' the older man stopped, searching for the right words, sighing. 'It’s gonna be okay, alright? I think if anything, he... he’s gonna feel flattered someone like you feels... like that about him.' He stopped again and they stared at each other for a moment. There was something weird in Happy's eyes. Something like fear. 'And anyway your friends are in trouble. You're all alone. The tech is missing. What are you gonna do about it?’ And just like that the subject was dropped, bringing him back to the great threat they were still facing right now. He had to stop Beck. He had to save his friends, and if he still could, stop him from spilling any of their secrets. Peter stood up.

‘I'm gonna kick his ass.’

‘No, I mean, right now. Specifically, what are we gonna do? Because we've been hovering over a tulip field for the last fifteen minutes.’

‘Right. I can't call my friends because he's tracking their phones... Give me your phone?’

‘My cell phone?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay. Here.’

‘What's your password?’

‘Password.’

‘No, what is your password?’

‘Password. The word. Spell that. Password.’

‘You're the CEO of Stark Industries and your password is password?’

‘I don't feel good about it either, and no, Pepper's back at the head of SI. I'm just the head of security again now’, Happy corrected him before flinching under the look Peter gave him.

'Yeah...'

His friends were in London now. Happy informed him Beck had destroyed his entire suitcase as soon as he had learned Peter knew the illusions were fake. His old Stark suit was gone. Ben's old suitcase was gone. Peter’s heart ached when he heard that, but he didn't have any time to wallow. He went to work at once, the jet containing an entire lab. Right. He was in Mr. Stark’s very own private jet. Happy watched him easily figure out how to operate the holo controls. Mr. Stark had made sure he would get access to every protocol there too and he felt a surge of pride and determination at that. He would stop Beck and make this right again. He could maybe stop him from blabbing everything to Mr. Stark. He could do this.

Happy was watching him with a strange look on his face as he started to create an entire new suit from scratch, understanding with little to no effort every single formula and chart appearing in front of him.

It was a quick flight. Soon, they were hovering over London. His friends were visiting the famous Tower Bridge and they got confirmation from Fury and Hill that something was going to show up there.

Peter had to fight again. He had to face Beck and his illusions again. He had to swallow the dread and the shame and the _terror_ down. Would he be able to keep it together this time? Was Beck going to use Mr. Stark or Ben against him again? What if he broke down again and Beck shot him in the head for real this time? He walked towards the discarded bundle of stinky black fabric that was the stealth suit now, and he opened the small reinforced case on the left side of its belt. Inside it, the flower necklace was miraculously intact.

‘If something happens to me, could you please give this to MJ?’ Peter said, handing it to Happy.

‘You're gonna make it back. You'll give it to her yourself. Okay? You got this.’

‘I got this.’

‘Now walk me through it.’

‘I know it's illusion tech, right? All I have to do is get on the inside of the illusion, then I can take it down, find him, and he's just a guy, so I can take I.R.M.A right back.’

‘Right. But last time, you got hit by a train.’

‘True. But, this time... how do I explain this... uh... I have like a sixth sense?’

‘The Peter Tingle.’ Happy said, making Peter cringe. _ May… _ ‘That's what you're talking about, right? It's not working, though. I heard it wasn't working right now. Is it?’

‘It_ is _ working. Well, I don't... I don't know if it's working...’

‘Okay. So your Peter Tingle…’

‘That's the plan.’

‘I'm gonna go get your friends. You get that Peter Tingle back online.’

Ugh, how many times was he going to feel mortified like that today…

‘I got this. I got this.'

He put the now fully printed red and black suit on, the first high-tech one he’d ever designed himself, and climbed outside the hull of the jet.

‘Happy?’

‘Yeah!’

‘We need to have a serious conversation about you and my aunt!’ he shouted through his new suit, his parachute opening right at that moment.

He flew into the damp English air towards Tower Bridge, and soon enough a huge monster appeared above it, exactly where and when Fury and Hill had predicted it would. Exactly where his friends currently were… He flew into the illusion, repeating to himself over and over ‘This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real!’ and suddenly found himself in the middle of a huge dome of bright pixels projected by dozens and dozens of drones. Maybe _hundreds_ of them.

‘Wow. That’s awesome’, his nerdy self couldn’t help but say, his mind in awe of the ingenious tech even in such a situation.

The battle that followed was nothing short of _ insane_. There were drones shooting at him from _ everywhere_, Beck quickly finding out he was there. He managed to tear the illusion apart but then he couldn’t shake the drones off, shouting desperately at Happy to reach his friends before Beck did, unable to do anything but avoid all the bullets constantly being fired at him. He jumped and grabbed flying drones and bounced off them and swung from them and fell onto the bridge and even into the Thames River many times, even catching fire at one point, all the while listening to Happy’s frantic escape with his friends until they ended up trapped into a vault inside the Tower of London. Peter fell into the water again and hoisted himself up back onto the Bridge. He could barely feel his own legs and arms and his chest hurt all over but he didn’t stop. He _ would _ stop Beck. He grabbed a metal sign, using it as a shield, and tore part of a car engine filled with fuel, ready to throw it at the drones. His plan worked. The fuel filter blew up as soon as the drones fired at it, destroying dozens of them, and Peter jumped right into one of the two upper glass floor walkways of the Bridge, where he was sensing Beck’s presence.

He grabbed the man by the collar, lifting him off the ground, and punched him in his reinforced glass fishbowl; not too hard though, he didn’t want to kill him.

‘Your lies are over, Beck.’

‘This certainly isn't ideal, but... I have contingencies. I.R.M.A?’

He felt the _ missile _too late. It hit him in the stomach, but this time, Peter was ready. Ready for the pain. He got back on his feet almost instantly.

‘Just give me the glasses.’

‘You want these? Come and get them.’

It started again, drones shielding Beck as the walkway vanished, a black blanket falling over them, forcing Peter into another one of those terrifying illusions. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply.

‘Come on, Peter Tingle.’

He only focused on his heightened senses, blocking every thought, every emotion, and it worked. He could _ see _ them, _ all _ of them even with his eyes tightly shut. He ducked and kicked and punched his way past them, knocking them all over, destroying them all with no hesitation, his power almost scarily limitless now. He faintly heard Beck shouting something and vaguely felt some sudden pain on his thighs, sides, back and then on the right side of his face.

‘No, fire _ all _ the drones _ now _!’ Beck yelled.

When Peter had reduced the last one to pieces, he noticed the man had collapsed onto the floor of the walkway. He’d been hit.

‘Beck! Beck...’ He limped to him, then just stared down at his enemy sitting back defeated against the glass wall. ‘I trusted you’, he just said. He couldn’t understand how anyone would ever possibly want to do what Beck had done to him. He just couldn’t.

‘I know. That's the most... disappointing part.’ Beck was struggling to speak. ‘I lied to you… you’re not bad. You're a good person, Peter… such a weakness... Stark’s right. You do deserve that’, he was handing him the glasses.

Peter’s arm automatically shot up to grab and block something on his right, even before his mind was even registering what his body was doing. _ Beck. _ He slowly turned his head towards the real Beck, holding the man’s wrist in a vice-grip. Beck dropped his gun.

‘You can't trick me anymore’, Peter said.

Just at that moment, they heard it. It was a sound Peter would have recognized in a million; the very distinct rising wheeze of a weapon being switched on – _ Iron Man’s weapon_.

_ He’s here. He came back. _

Peter didn’t even have time to turn his head towards the sound before Iron Man shot its trademark ray of energy right at Beck. Peter flinched from the blast, gasped in shock and heard Beck whimper, and then, only after a couple of seconds, the man let out a piercing scream. His right arm had been ripped off. He dumbly stared at Beck’s burnt flesh in horror, panting. He then slowly turned towards Iron Man_. I had him! I had him at my mercy! _he wanted to say. Why had he done that? The metallic figure was hovering outside the walkway, his powerful hand still outstretched. Peter’s stomach did a flip. The suit was silver and blue.

This wasn’t Iron Man.

‘Leave him to me, kid. Get back on the ground. Now.’

_ Pepper Stark. _

She sounded pissed through the daunting helmet and the authority in her voice didn’t leave him any choice but to obey instantly. It took him a few seconds to be able to move his feet, however. He was breathing heavily, his wide, shocked eyes staring at her imposing figure, at her right hand still ready to shoot. Beck was heaving and crying out in pain. Peter slung himself off the walkway without looking back.

When his feet hit the road, he limped towards the nearest tower, fell against the wall there and burst into tears, suddenly overcome with immense relief mixed with uncontrollable pain. _ Emotional _ pain.

It was over. Beck was neutralized. Pepper was taking care of him, probably bringing him to the hospital and to the authorities right now. He was going to be arrested. But he was alive. Was he alive? Was he going to survive his wounds? If he did, he would talk. If he did, Peter was screwed.

_Mr. Stark…_ _He_ would _know_. It was only a matter of time now. The little bond they had, already weak and superficial, would be gone. Nothing would ever be the same between them.

And it was all his fault.

He wanted to bury himself in the Thames River. If he’d been smart enough…

Peter hit his own head, hard.

_ ‘You thought if you had been smart enough, they wouldn’t have been on that plane...’ _ Susan’s words echoed in his mind.

_ No. _ No, he had to get a grip. He _ had _ to get a grip. This _wasn't_ his fault. _No._ He thought about Happy’s words. _ ‘You’re gonna feel ashamed. Humiliated. You’re gonna feel like it’s the end of the world, but kid… You’re gonna be okay. Because it’s _ fine_. It’s okay. It really is.’ _

He blew a long breath out through his lips. His life was fucked up. It had always been and it always would be. But he had to go on. For May, for Ned, for MJ… for Mr. Stark… for _himself._ He stood up, legs shaking, and he limped his way along the deserted bridge full of wrecked cars and pieces of blown off drones. After a minute of trying to hold more tears back in the now quiet damp air of London, he spotted her. MJ.

She ran to him and hugged him tightly. This was exactly what he needed the most right now.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked mid-hug in a high voice.

‘I'm okay. Are you okay?’ she asked back.

‘Yeah’, he lied, ‘everybody else okay?’

‘Everyone's okay’, she breathed.

He moaned in relief and melted into her arms, trying very hard not to burst into tears again. Her being here right now had to be some sort of sign. Oh, he loved her with all his heart at that moment.

‘What happened?’

‘There was this– the drones.. they were following us, and then, th–they just… stopped’, she answered, panic still in her voice. ‘Was that you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did you get him?’

He didn’t want her to let go of him, but she did.

‘Yeah…’, he replied after a moment, remembering Mrs. Stark.

‘Well, I, um... brought that. In case you needed some help’, she said, gesturing at a freaking mace on the ground behind her.

‘Thanks’, he faintly chuckled, not really being able to fake laughter right now.

‘Anyway, uh... there was this sweaty guy, in the tower with us’, she went on, looking for something in one of her pockets. ‘I think, he, like, works for you or something. He, um... He gave me this’, she said, showing him something in her hand. The necklace. It was broken.

‘No... Oh, MJ, I’m so sorry, I had this plan, this stupid plan, and I wrote it all down, and I was gonna buy you this and give it to you in Paris at th–’

Something collided with his lips. It was soft and wet and very quick. He couldn’t wrap his head around what MJ had just done. She smiled shyly at him and his heart fluttered.

‘You kissed me… what…’, he breathed. He couldn’t believe it. He suddenly remembered her reaction in his hotel room when she’d seen his naked chest. Confidence shot back into him.

‘I don't really have much luck when it comes to getting close to people...’, she explained, clearly feeling awkward and not sure of herself, ‘so I lied. I wasn't just watching you cause I thought you were Spider-Man...’

Her clumsiness was so cute. He looked down, letting out a few timid breaths of joy and relief not unlike laughter, and smiled at her. She had a crush on him. He felt the urge to cry again. ‘That's great’, he simply replied.

‘Black Dahlia. Like...’

'The murder. Yeah’, they both said at the same time.

‘I'm sorry it's broken’, Peter added.

‘I actually like it better broken’, she told him. He felt a sudden urge to kiss her himself.

‘I really like you’, he said, his voice filled with emotion.

‘I really like you, too’, she replied timidly.

He smiled for real this time. He had to kiss her now, but he didn’t really know how. He awkwardly stepped forward, still smiling, silently asking her for permission, and she leaned her head down to his. It was a quick peck. It wasn’t enough. Her eyes were so soft and he moved towards her again, this time kissing her long and hard, melting into the kiss, her hand coming to rest against the back of his head, and that gesture, weirdly more than the kiss itself, felt _ nice. _ She seemed even more awkward after that, Peter staring fondly at her, vaguely aware arousal was pooling slowly inside him.

‘Okay. I should, um... I should walk... probably get back to the class.'

‘I'll go and...’ he didn’t know what to say.

‘... yeah.’ They laughed a little at the awkward situation.

‘Just in case’, she said, picking up the mace from the ground. Peter smiled at her, and then she was walking away. He went the other way, skipping in joy, pumping his fist. He’d had his first kiss before dying! Yay! It had been nice, but too quick. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to do it again! He was okay. Yes, he was totally fine, now. He had a girlfriend! Did he? It looked like he did! Oh my god, he had a girlfriend!

He shot some webbing against the first tower, jumping back onto the bridge hundreds of feet ahead, before breaking into a sprint, the adrenaline making him ignore the pain, running at full speed among the empty cars. _ I have a girlfriend! Fuck Mr. Stark! I’m gonna be okay! I’m gonna be okay! I’m okay. _

When he finally reached the other bank, Happy’s jet flew right past him and landed on the other side before a long line of police and emergency vehicles blocking the way. He quickly put his mask back on and walked inside the jet. Happy gave him a phone, some new clothes and brought him back to his class. They were staying at a small hotel in Woodford. He exchanged a few words with May on the phone, arrived there before the group and immediately stepped into the bathroom he would have to share with two other classmates. He stripped and stepped into the shower. The hot water was utter bliss on his bruised body. He looked down and saw his entire right side was still purple. He had to rest a hand on the tiled wall for a minute to maintain his balance. He breathed hard and slow.

_ You’re okay, remember? You’re okay now. You have a girlfriend. Nothing’s your fault. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. _

He grabbed the little shower gel packet and began to soap himself all over. He was shaking and felt nauseous. He tried to reach his back but the movement produced some searing pain.

‘Aaah…’ he cried out.

When he stepped outside the shower, he dropped to his knees, still naked and wet, before the toilet. He had to throw up. He had to but nothing came out. He leaned against the wall, panting.

_ Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t fucking cry again you _wuss.

He did cry. For a long time. He didn’t know for how long exactly. He pictured Mr. Stark above him, watching him with pity and disappointment, tapping him on the shoulder in a faint attempt at comforting him, having his confirmation right there that the kid wasn’t even remotely ready for any of this. Not worthy of his trust. He then just stayed there, sitting limply next to a cheap hotel toilet, naked and exhausted. He only moved minutes later when he heard the room door opening. _ Shit. _

He stood up, wincing, then grabbed the bundle of clothes Happy had given him and dressed up.

‘Who’s there?’ MJ!

‘Peter?’ Ned!

‘Yeah!’ Peter called out.

‘Oh my god, come out! Are you okay?’ Ned shouted.

‘Shhhh’, MJ scolded him into silence.

‘Sorry’, Peter heard him whisper.

They were bunking with him. Ned hugged him tight as soon as he walked out of the bathroom. Peter told him everything. Well, almost everything…

‘What were they like?’ MJ asked him.

‘What?’

‘The illusions. How did they look like?’

‘I – I don’t really wanna talk about it.’

‘Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…’

‘No, it’s okay. I just… I need some sleep…’

‘Our flight home’s in 4 hours.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah… parents want us back, remember?’

‘Oh, yeah, makes sense’, he breathed out, already boneless in his bed. He fell asleep in seconds.

When he woke up, he felt something tickling his chin and neck, and then noticed an arm was resting across his chest. His eyes popped open. MJ. She was lying against him. In bed.

_ Oh my god, don’t freak out, don’t freak out, oh my god. _

Her head was nuzzled against his neck and she woke up with a start, instantly pulling away and he grabbed her arm out of reflex before she could fall down the bed.

‘I’m sorry! I just… I was so scared earlier and I saw you there and Ned went to stay with Betty and I was alone with bad thoughts in my head and I –’ she talked very quickly, mortified. Peter was just smiling, still holding her arm.

‘It’s okay, hey! Hey, MJ, it’s okay!’

‘You’re not freaking out?’

‘No. No’, he nervously chuckled. ‘I… I like it’, he added shyly.

‘Oh’, she looked down at her arm still in his soft grip. He let go of it slowly, caressing it. He didn’t think at all, he just did it, he lifted himself off the pillow and pushed his lips against hers, an awkward peck like on the bridge and she looked down at him shocked.

‘I’m sorry. Oh my god, I – this is so inappropriate, I’m so sorry. I didn’t –’

She kissed him back, hard, too hard, her teeth knocking against his own, her hands pushing him back against the mattress. She was on top of him now, staring at him with wide eyes.

‘I’m so sorry! Ouch… Ow, that really hurt… I’m such a loser…’, she trailed off, holding her own mouth, ‘it’s just that… I’ve never done this before and I have no idea how to –’

He brought his head close to hers again, but slowly this time, gazing into her eyes, caressing the back of her neck, waiting for silent approval, and then they were kissing again, properly this time, _ long and hard_, Peter gently pulling her down against him. She kissed him again, and again and again, flush against his own body. She was on top of him, pressing him down and the moment her tongue lightly touched his closed lips, he had a flash of Mr. Stark doing that to him and he moaned, feeling himself very quickly growing rock-hard. He couldn’t think straight.

_ Oh yes. Yes. Oh my god. Oh my god. _

She suddenly pulled away, swallowing.

‘Okay’, she said, sitting up.

‘Wh–what?’ _ Oh my god_, had he said something? _ No, no. _ He hadn’t said anything, he was sure of it. ‘Are… you okay?’ he asked, sitting up too.

‘Yup’, she replied, not meeting his eyes and nodding quickly at the little flower painting on the opposite wall.

It dawned on him then. His erection. She’d felt his erection. _ Oh my god. _

‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry!’ he said, hands flying to hide his very obvious bulge.

‘No, no, no, it’s okay, perfectly natural, just… I’m… I don’t think I’m ready for _ this_…’

‘Oh my god, no, no, no, no, I didn’t mean– I– I never meant –’ he stammered, grabbing the pillow to hide himself. Unfortunately it was half pressed under her butt, and it instantly ripped in half, cotton flying everywhere. Peter stared at the torn piece of fabric in his hand, then at MJ, hair covered in little cotton balls, and then both of them burst out laughing.

They had one more hour until they all had to leave to the airport. It was the middle of the night. Peter didn’t know what to do, what to say, and apparently neither did she. They spent a few minutes in awkward silence, and then Peter asked her what she was reading right now. _The Castle of Otranto_, she told him. And then she talked about the 18th-century novel in detail, Peter listening to her with a faint smile on his face, trying not to think about where his mind had gone when she’d been kissing him deeply. When they got ready to leave the hotel, he had a look at the phone Happy had given him. He had five unread texts. He stared at the notifications for a bit before putting it back into his pocket. He didn’t read them.

During the flight home he dozed off against her, trying to keep himself from reaching into his bag and looking at the messages, instead relishing the new feeling of having someone to cuddle with like that… someone to kiss, someone to hug, to share sweet words and caresses with… He had a girlfriend. He was happy. He truly was.

He was.

_ You aren’t really. _

_ Yes. Yes, I am.  
_

He threw up into the plane toilet, carefully avoiding his own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

_ ‘You’re just as bad as he is.’ _

MJ gave him her number before they separated in JFK, Peter typing it with shaky fingers – he’d seen the notifications again – and then he was reunited with May. He didn’t ask her about Happy then. He needed time. He needed to be alone.

He took the phone out again only when he was finally alone in his bedroom, the calm smile that had been on his face ever seen he’d left the London hotel with MJ now completely fading away. He felt like Cinderella after midnight. The spell was broken now. His eyes were glued to the number 6 in the corner of the screen. 6 unread messages now. He knew two of them were from May, she’d told him. That left four. He sat on his bed, almost threw it onto his bedside table and grabbed a book, too scared to have a look at them.

He couldn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t stop staring at the phone. He finally pressed his shaky thumb onto the little text bubble at 1am after hours of anguish.

None of them were from Happy. They were all from the same unknown number. He opened the tab.

**From Unknown, June 19, 11:33pm: Nice job, kid. - TS**

He looked up, exhaling loudly. Nice job? _Nice job?! _After what he’d done? Was that sarcasm? If it was, how could he be _that _cruel? Maybe Beck was right, maybe he truly was an asshole.

Peter looked down at the screen again, bracing himself for what was next.

**11:48pm: Are you okay?**

**June 20, 5:52am: Send grandpa Stark a text when you can, will you?**

_ Grandpa Stark… _ Peter closed his eyes tight, letting out a shaky sigh.

**9:12am: Happy told me everything. If you need to talk, just give me a call.**

_ That’s it, I’m done, I can’t take this anymore, fuck it, fuck everything, I’m done. _

Did it mean _this_ or _that?_ Had Happy told him about _that _too? It didn't matter. He was tired of conjecturing, tired of thinking, tired of hiding. He typed the words fast and pressed _send _ without thinking before storming out of his bedroom and going straight to May’s. She wasn’t there.

‘Peter?’ He turned around. She had probably been in the bathroom. ‘Oh my god what happened?’, she said, fear in her eyes when she saw him. ‘Is it another nightmare?’ He couldn’t speak. She hugged him and held him close through his panic attack.

‘Ssshhh… sshhh baby I’m here, I’m here. It’s okay… It’s okay, honey, I’m here with you… you’re okay… you’re okay… ssshhh…’

Tony woke up to his phone buzzing. Pepper didn’t stir. He reached for it with his left hand and froze. He blinked. The words were still there. This wasn’t a dream. This was real.

**From Parker, 1:08am: I love you.**


	21. Saturday July 1, 2023

Wednesday June 21, 2023 

1:08am: I love you.

**1:14am: Wrong number, Pete.**

1:50am: No.

2:02am: I’m sorry.

**2:03am: Missed Call**

**2:16am: Missed Call (2)**

**2:19am: Missed Call (3)**

**2:22am: Calling Parker**

It rang and rang and rang until finally, the kid picked up. Tony let out a shaky breath of relief. It was probably ridiculous, it was probably paranoia, but he’d had a dreadful hunch. Now that he finally had him on the phone however, he couldn’t speak. Neither could Peter, apparently. All Tony could hear was some breathing. Heavy breathing. Slow and hard and shaky. The high-quality sound system of his advanced holo phone left nothing to the imagination; it did nothing to appease the dread.

‘Kid?’ he managed to say. There was no response; just that labored breathing going on and on.

‘Peter?’ Tony tried again, dread escalating, making his heart beat faster. _ Come on, he’s just heart-broken and ashamed, no need to be paranoid about it. _

Still nothing. 

Why wasn’t he answering him? He’d been hit by a train, shot, manipulated… And now he was losing his mind in the middle of the night, telling him _ that _ out of the fucking blue? Who suddenly confesses their love by text at one in the morning, followed by _ ‘I’m sorry’? _And he wasn’t answering him. 

Tony was trying not to panic now.

‘Kid, you okay? Where are you? Pete, answer me.’

His wife sat up in bed and her sleepy face had fear written all over it. She didn’t need to ask what was going on, what she had just heard in her husband’s voice had been enough; there was something wrong with the kid and Tony was scared. Her mind immediately went to suicide. With a single look, he made her understand what he wanted. She quickly stood up and left their bedroom to discreetly ask F.R.I.D.A.Y to locate Peter’s phone, just in case. He could have easily done it himself, but his face was glued to his phone, his hearing entirely focused on Peter’s breathing.

‘Peter?’ he repeated. Nothing. ‘Peter? You do know I can send an army of drones to your aunt’s right now just to make sure you’re–’

‘I’m okay.’

Tony let out a sigh of relief, but Peter’s voice was uncharacteristically deep —_ rough. _And sure enough, his words were followed by some coughing. Tony concentrated on the sound as if it could hold any answers to what was going on on the other end of the line. His father’s instinct made him stupidly think of the flu and his mind conjured up the image of the little bottle of pink syrup he usually gave Morgan whenever she got a sore throat. 

_ Don’t freak out. _

He saw Pepper reappear in the doorway with a thumb up. The kid was home. He nodded at her, silently thanking her, but he didn’t know what to say. They exchanged a long look, Peter’s breathing still in his ear, and then Pepper stepped in just to grab her bathrobe before walking out again with a small smile that years of living with her allowed him to instantly translate. _ I’m letting you have some privacy. You’re the one who should stay in bed and the kid needs you. I’m going to make myself some tea, don’t worry, it’s okay. _

He remembered her soothing words from so long ago._ ‘It’s okay.’ _

A long silence followed. Tony was literally physically unable to speak, just like Peter. The truth was, he was afraid to speak, afraid to start speaking. He didn’t trust himself to. And so he just listened to the constant rhythm of the breathing of the boy he loved, and Peter listened to his. For how long they stayed like that, neither could have said. To anyone other than them, this strangely intimate silence would have looked like a mutual confession in itself. Tony suddenly thought about that and it became too much.

‘Quite impressive what you pulled off in London’, he blurted out.

Peter didn’t say anything back. 

_ Say something, anything, _Tony said to himself.

‘Thank you... for deciphering my messy notes by the way. Took mad skills… of the brainy variety this time. I knew you had it in you.’

Was his voice steady enough? _ Shit. Shit! The mere idea of that phone call is a fucking code red! What the fuck was I thinking? _ Shit!

Still nothing from Peter.

‘Wow you’re being rude, kid. Come on, tell me something. How’s Aunt Hottie?’ he lamely went on, speaking fast as per habit but unable to completely hide his highly emotional state.

He heard Peter’s breathing stop for three seconds, before the kid drew a louder, shaky breath. The sound had pain written all over it. He was most likely crying.

‘Hey Pete…’ Tony started, but he was at a loss for words.

_ Fuck _.

In a simpler world, words he wanted so desperately to say would have tumbled out of his mouth in a long, fast and catastrophic ramble.

_ Are you gonna be okay? Because those texts you sent me plus the sounds you’re making right now added to what Happy told me —getting hit by a fucking train, almost dying, _ again, _having your mind played with by a psycho, almost having your friends killed... all the guilt you must be feeling... not to mention the snap... the weight on your shoulders... yeah, I know what that’s like, trust me, I know what you’re going through right now and I know all of that combined would make anyone lose their shit so... just calling to check if you’re okay and to make sure you’re not gonna do, you know, something stupid. I know it’s probably totally far-fetched and paranoid on my part and you would never take the easy way out anyway but you see, if I were you, if I were you, Pete, I would’ve at least thought about it and I’ve had those thoughts before, I know what that’s like and they suck and it hurts and to be completely honest with you I still have them, God I still do because I’m so fucking in love with you it’s hard to even breathe sometimes. _

But it was the real world and instead, Tony said:

‘Look, I know I’m smoking hot, I–’

‘I’m sorry. I won’t bother you anymore.’

His voice was breathy but surprisingly steady. If anything, it freaked Tony out even more.

‘Bother me? You? Why would you bother me?’ Tony said in a gentle voice that sent shivers through Peter’s entire body.

Again, no reply. His words echoed in Tony’s mind.

_ ‘I won’t bother you anymore.’ _

_ ‘I won’t bother you anymore.’ _

_ He won’t bother me anymore? What? How? _

‘Look, kid… just... tell me you’re gonna be okay.’

Tony waited and waited. Peter’s silence was a clear no.

‘Listen, I–’ Tony started again, trying to calm his own breathing, but Peter interrupted him with a bomb.

‘Do you feel the same way?’

_ Oh God. _ It was Tony’s turn to draw a long, shaky breath and he pressed his thumb against his phone to block the sound, eyes going up to stare at the ceiling. _ Shit. Shit. Come on, breathe. Fuck. Okay, I can do this. I can do this. Shit! _

When he answered, he kept his voice as steady and indifferent as possible.

‘I’m very fond of you, you know that.’

‘No’, Peter said over his words, firmly. ‘You know what I mean’, he went on, his voice weaker, higher, as if he was about to cry.

Tony closed his eyes.

That voice... that voice… that sweet, _ sweet _ voice… It was even sweeter than he’d remembered. He couldn’t speak. He was on the edge of a cliff. Not only him: Pepper, Morgan, his entire company…

‘Answer me, please’, Peter pleaded, almost whispering. ‘I need to know.’

Yes, the boy was definitely crying. Tony heard a sharp intake of breath – sniffing. He had to block out the memory of Peter’s death, but strangely, it was another memory of him that almost did it. A high-angle shot of his crying face that some security camera in the compound had picked up right after their argument in the lab all those years ago… Tony had watched it again and again… It made him almost say it.

Almost.

‘No.’

It was a firm no. 

There was dead silence, and then it started, the sobbing. Even Peter’s sobs were as sweet as honey. Tony was rushing towards his own breaking point at light speed.

_ Don’t. Don’t! Pepper! Shit! _

In his small bedroom over in Queens, Peter Parker’s world came crashing down. Again.

_ ‘No.’ _

It was such a small word but he would have sworn on May’s life: it hurt even more than the train that had torn his flesh open. Deep down, despite common sense, despite his own reason, despite all the available evidence, he had always entertained the crazy hope that this wasn’t one-sided. And now he knew. Mr. Stark didn’t love him back.

‘Pete...’ Tony whispered, listening to the boy’s desperate sobs with his eyes still closed. It went on and on. He was kissing Peter’s tears in his mind, sending imaginary waves of deep love over to him across all the distance and decency keeping them apart, almost physically feeling them fly away from his chest.

_ I love you. I love you too. I love you. Oh, I love you but I can’t say it, I can’t. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I’m so sorry. Don’t cry, Pete, I’m not worth it. I spied on you, oh, if you knew… I’m a bad man, like that Quentin Beck. Oh please stop, please stop crying you beautiful, perfect human being. I love you so fucking much, you have no idea. _

But he didn’t say it. It was on the tip of his tongue, dangerously so, but he didn’t say it. If he did, he had the feeling he wouldn’t survive it.

And then the sobbing stopped. Tony opened his eyes and a tear escaped his left one, before another dropped along his right cheek. 

Fuck, he had to sober up. Ironically, never in his life had he ever needed a shot of Scotch more than at that moment. He clasped his left hand onto his face, wiping it dry with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open. 

_ Holy fucking Christ, don’t fuck up. _

‘Pete, just tell me one thing... are you getting any sleep? Happy told me sleeping pills don’t do anything for you.’

_ That’s right, come on, back to the real world. _

Once again, the kid remained silent.

‘Peter... answer me.’

Nothing.

‘Please.’

Still nothing.

‘I– I can probably design some pills adapted to your metabolism. Cap had the same problem.’

_ Come on. Come on tell me something. _

‘Pete... Peter...’

Peter couldn’t speak. He was waiting; waiting for Mr. Stark’s voice to reach his ear again, and again, and again, and again. He didn’t want this phone call to stop, however humiliating. He didn’t want him to stop talking. He needed to hear his voice; he needed it more than anything, more than ever. _ One more word, one more word before it’s over. _

‘Peter, please…’

_ Oh yes _ , Peter thought when Tony repeated his name. _ Yes, say my name like that… Please say my name again… Please… One more time… One more time before it’s too late. _

Tony fucking Stark_ stuttered. _

‘Please tell me you– you won’t– you–’ 

‘No’, Peter finally replied. ‘Don’t worry for me, it just hurts, s’all.’

_ Oh my Peter, I know... God, I know… _

‘I know. When I was–’ Tony started.

‘We’d better not see each other again’, Peter interrupted him.

A searing pain shot through Tony’s chest. He took a sharp intake of breath.

_ For Pepper, for Morgan, for Happy… God, Happy… I swore… I swore… For Peter! For Peter. _

He couldn’t.

‘We’ll have to. You’re part of the team.’ 

_ There. I’ll see you again. We’ll have to, that’s a given. _

‘I want out’, Peter said.

_ No. _Tony tilted his head up as his face scrunched up in pain, his eyes tightly shut. He fought back a sob. This was _ fucking torture. _He didn’t open his pained eyes when he spoke, his voice not at all matching how _ wrecked _ he looked.

‘Okay.’

‘It won’t go away’, Peter added.

‘Come again?’

‘I’ll always love you.’

Tony abruptly hung up. The phone fell from his hand, bounced onto the bed and hit the carpet with a few thuds. Eyes still closed, he brought his left hand to his mouth and the vibranium one on top of it and stopped breathing for a few seconds.

And then he lost all control.

_ ‘Anthony, how many times do I have to tell you: boys don’t cry or when they do, it’s for a good reason. Now man up and deal with the pain. I won’t have my son acting like a girl, you hear me? Unless you want another round? Do you? Do you? That’s my boy. Now get out.’ _

‘Oh my god, Tony! What happened? Is he okay? Oh my god, tell me he’s okay! Tony? Tony answer me! What happened? Tony, you’re freaking me out!’

‘Mommy?’

_ No. Not now. _

‘Mommy?’ Morgan repeated, voice even higher, panicky, shocked by the disturbing sounds her father was making. ‘Why is daddy crying? Is he hurting? Did the drones come back?’

Pepper started crying herself, but managed to keep a straight face, reassuring her daughter.

‘Daddy’s in pain, sweetie. It’s normal, don’t worry, he’s still healing, he just needs some rest.’

Even a four year-old, and especially his sharp little miss, could tell that was a lie.

‘Why are you crying too?’

‘Because it makes me feel sad’, Pepper said in a quavering voice, though somehow still smiling. Tony was paralyzed. He heard them leave the bedroom, his wife still gently reassuring his little girl; his little girl who had just seen her father reduced to the most pitiful state imaginable, losing all semblance of control and strength and dignity, and why? Because he wanted to fuck a_ boy _ who could be her _ big brother. _

He had a gun downstairs. It was a custom SVI Tiki-T – quite the titanium beauty. It was in a fake encyclopedia tome at the top of a bookshelf in his cozy little work area. Only he knew of its existence. Only he could open the hollow book with his fingerprints. He pictured it very clearly. He could end it all, it would be so easy – easy and quick and painless. He pictured it very clearly, Pepper tucking Morgan in, gently kissing her forehead before she heard it – the bang. She wouldn’t scream. She would just open her mouth in a silent gasp of horror. She would instantly know that he was dead. She would tell Morgan to stay where she was and walk downstairs, slowly. She would see him on the floor and fall to her knees and cry. But then she would get up. She would walk back upstairs holding her stomach, take Morgan into her arms, hold her tight, and then grab her phone. She would call Happy. He would probably throw up, but she… she would be strong, dignified, _ regal_. For Morgan. 

And then… 

And then his queen would find another king soon enough, perfect as she was. Morgan would end up damaged as any kid losing a parent would, but she wasn’t even five. With Pepper here to shield her, she wouldn’t remember. She wouldn’t remember anything. 

She wouldn’t remember him.

He could do it. He could do it right now.

He stood up. 

He started to walk. 

He winced at the pain. He reached for his cane. The soles of his bare feet were weirdly sensitive as they came into contact with the wooden floor with each step. This wasn’t just a thought anymore, he was walking, walking downstairs, walking to the gun like a ghost. 

He wasn’t crying anymore.

How would Peter react? The thought made him freeze. He grabbed the stair railing with his left hand, squeezing the wood with all his might as if the action alone could keep himself from going any further, but his cane did, and his feet didn’t stop.

He counted every step just like he used to when he was a child. When his right foot touched the ground floor, he looked to his right and saw it, the bookshelf – the tome. 

What the fuck was he doing? 

‘F.R.I.D.A.Y.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Call Happy right now. Emergency line.’

‘Right away, boss.’

He turned to the left instead and limped his way into the ground-level bathroom, closed the door behind him, sat wincing on the little straw armchair there and waited. 

‘Tony? What’s going on?’

‘Talk to me.’

‘What?’

‘I said talk to me.’

‘Tony, are you okay? It’s almost 3am, what’s going on?’

‘Just talk to me. About anything, I don’t care, just talk.’

‘You… why do you –’

_ ‘Happy_.’

‘Alright, alright, I bought a new couch! I liked the old one a lot but M— a... a woman told me it was kinda dirty-looking because of old stains? I really tried to wash them away every time I spilled something on it but they never really came off, you know? You know, like, you’re supposed to spray some product on it and then wait and then brush it in a circular motion around the stain but that kind of spread the stain every time I did that and it evened it out and at the end you could still see something and… Tony, would you _ please _ tell me what the hell’s going on?’

‘I’m suicidal, I need you to talk to me.’

‘You– you…’

‘Yeah.’

‘You…’

‘Sorry. It’s just… a really strong urge I’m having right now. I really,_ really _ wanna off myself.’

‘Tony… Oh my god, Tony tell me you didn’t keep that gun!’

‘Nope.’

‘Oh, thank God!’

‘Bought another one.’

‘No! Tony, I– I’m on my way, I– please, whatever you do, don’t hang up, okay? Where’s Pepper? Morgan?’

‘Upstairs.’

‘Okay… Okay… Tony… think about her… think about Morgan. You’re not gonna do that to her, right? When she’s under the same roof? Sleeping upstairs? D’you know–’

‘Yeah, that’s pretty fucked up. Pinnacle of selfishness. Yeah. Yeah I thought about that. But I’m a selfish man, buddy’, his voice suddenly rose, high and desperate, breaking his usual fast, matter-of-factly way of speaking he’d been able to keep until now. ‘Thought about Morgan, still wanna do it!’ he added in a teary, sing-song voice. Happy’s blood froze.

‘Tony! Tony. Tony, listen to me. Where’s the gun? D’you have it right now?’

Tony didn’t know why, but he didn’t answer.

‘Listen to me, Tony, please… please don’t do this… It’s– it’s not that bad! You… you need some sleep… Have you been getting any sleep? You– you were kind of tortured, right? On that planet? Rhodey told me you wouldn’t tell anyone what really happened to you but they heard you… they heard you scream… Tony, you can tell _ me._’

‘Not about that.’

‘Tony.’

‘Not about that!’ His sing-song voice was back and it scared the shit out of his best friend.

‘Tony! Listen, I’m sure it’s gotten into you. He said the weird aliens–’

‘They cut my guts open without anesthesia but it’s not about that.’

‘They… What? _ What? _Jesus Christ!’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘Doesn’t matter?! Tony! Tony, you’re most likely deeply traumatized! That’s why you’re freaking out right now, think about it!’

‘Not about that.’

‘Yeah, cause that’s a fucking coincidence you wanna die right after having–’

‘I spoke with the kid.’

There was dead silence on the other end of the line.

‘What… did… did something happen with… with him?’

‘Yep.’

‘Shit. Shit, I should’ve… I should’ve… Oh my god, I should’ve told–’

‘It’s all on me, buddy, you got nothing to do with this.’

‘But… but I just had May on the phone… he’s home… he’s in bed… he… she told me he had a huge nightmare… god, that wasn’t a nightmare, was it?’

‘Nope.’

Happy was the one breathing hard now. ‘What happened?’ He asked again.

‘Had him on the phone. How long ago did you have her?’

‘You…’ Tony could almost hear his friend’s brain working. ‘What happened, Tony…’

‘How long ago?’ Tony repeated.

‘About… about an hour ago, maybe less, why?’

‘Call her again, check if he’s okay.’

‘Tony, you gotta tell me –’

‘Do it now.’

‘Tony—´

‘Now!’ 

‘I can’t leave you like that!’

‘Conference call, I’ll keep quiet.’

Happy executed his order and Tony pictured his trembling fingers tapping his phone. It rang. The woman quickly picked up.

‘Happy, what’s going on?’

‘Is the kid still in his bedroom? I, uh, I’m receiving confusing signals from his suit, it’s probably nothing but… just wanna make sure.’

‘Oh… okay, I’m going to his room right now.’

The two men waited, hearing May shuffling in bed and then walking to Peter’s room. It wasn’t long before she spoke again, whispering.

‘He’s here, he’s asleep.’

‘Alright, sorry to have bothered you.’

‘No, not at all, you notice anything wonky, give me a call right away. Thank you, Happy.’

‘Alright, bye.’

‘G’night honey bear.’

It was the two of them again now. Happy cringed at the term of endearment he was unable to keep Tony from hearing and braced himself for his friend’s reaction, for the mock outrage, for the sarcastic teasing, but it didn’t come. Tony didn’t react at all, didn’t jump at the occasion to take the piss out of his best friend, and that fact alone made Happy’s hair at the back of his head stand on end.

‘Tony? Tony, speak to me. What the hell happened? Tony!’

‘He’s in love with me. He told me.’

‘He told you...’

‘You _ knew_?’

Happy didn’t answer him.

‘For how long?’ Tony asked.

‘I… Does it matter?’

‘Tell me.’

’Did _you_ tell him?’

’No. Answer me.’

‘It doesn’t change anything, Tony, and… he has a girlfriend now, by the way.’

Happy cringed at himself as soon as the words came out of his mouth. But fuck it, his friend needed to descend back to earth and get a reality check.

Tony’s chest constricted. He lost the ability to speak again for a few seconds, before pressing him on, ignoring what he had just revealed to him.

‘Before or after?’ He didn’t need to clarify what he meant by that, everyone said that now to mean _ before or after the snap. _

‘I– I wasn’t sure before… I told you about my suspicions though, remember? He… he told me right before London. Beck… Beck spied on him and figured it out somehow… he used it against him.’

‘How?’

‘Illusions, I don’t know exactly...’

Tony digested the new piece of information. Peter’s breakdown made more sense now.

‘So… it could leak.’

Happy waited a few seconds to reply.

‘Yeah.’

Tony’s remaining hand was back on his face.

‘Tony… it’s nothing… we’ll say it’s just a fanboy cru–’

‘Shit, I can’t do it. I can’t go on like this. I can’t bear it.’

‘It’s alright, we’ll figure it out, it’s – it’s not that bad, Tony.’

‘Fuck…’

‘It’s okay.’

‘I wanna do it.’

‘Tony! There’s nothing we can’t fix, and think about Morgan.’

‘I can’t do it.’

‘She loves you so much, think about her.’

‘I feel like they’re still in there.’

‘What?’

Happy waited for Tony to reply and was so relieved when he did.

‘It’s like… I can still feel them inside of me.’

‘What?’

‘I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve stayed here and just died sooner.’

‘Tony. Tony, what did they do to you, and I mean, specifically?’ Happy was clearly outside now, the sound of strong wind intermittently muffling his voice a little.

‘It should’ve been that day… would’ve been perfect...’ Tony was muttering to himself now.

‘What? What day? Perfect? Tony, what are you talking about?’

‘But I wouldn’t have known Morgan so no… the snap… that’s the day… the day I should’ve died.’

‘Tony.’

‘I shouldn’t be alive.’

‘You are. You are alive. You’re a father, a husband, a friend…’

‘I’m sorry… my arm, that alien shit, the kid… Morgan seeing me like this… I can’t… I can’t go on like this…’

‘Where’s the gun?’ his friend asked.

‘Shit… shit…’, Tony was whispering.

‘It’s okay… It’s okay, just talk to me, keep talking to me.’

‘Not gonna get any better...’

‘Yes, yes it will!’

‘I love him… Fuck, Happy, I love him too much…’

‘Shit… I should’ve told him not to tell you…’

‘Not your fault.’

‘I should’ve given him the same talk I gave you…’

‘I swear to you, you blame yourself for this, I’ll keep you off my will.’

‘I will if you kill yourself, asshole!’

‘Whoo, _ hey!’ _

‘Where’s the gun?’

‘_Asshole? _’

‘Tony, where’s the gun?’

‘Self-centered pervert would be more appropriate...’

‘Tony, _ where _ is the _ gun_?’

‘No need to shout.’

‘Is it in your hand?’

‘Which one?’

‘Fuck you!’

‘Fuck you too, buddy.’

The lights suddenly went off. Power failure? Nah, not here. Probably Pepper preventing him from sticking his fingers into a plug or something… Pepper… She’d probably been listening to every word. He hadn’t thought about that at all. Shit.

Shit, Happy! The poor man had probably thought the worst when the line was brutally cut!

The lights weren’t turned on again but the call was reconnected —no electricity to harm himself except for the speakers hidden in the ceiling for their call to go on. Yes, definitely Pepper. 

The most disturbing sound he’d heard in a long time hit his ears when he was back on the line: Happy was crying. Tony froze. The only way he could describe the sound was _ unnatural_. Happy didn’t cry. He just didn’t. It was the very first time in all the years they’d known each other that he was hearing him cry. Again, _ Toy Story 3 _ didn’t count.

How the fuck could he have thought about doing that to him? To Pepper? To Morgan? To _ Peter? _

‘Hey buddy, I’m still here’, he said.

‘Oh my god! You… you…’

‘Asshole, yeah. Sorry, power failure.’

‘Oh!’ Happy was groaning and gasping from relief and shock. Tony could almost hear his frantic heart beat and see him holding his own chest. What if he’d given him a heart attack? _ Fucking Christ. _

‘I’m not… gonna do it. And anyway, I don’t even want to anymore, you’re such a killjoy.’

‘I love you, you fucking asshole!’

‘Love you too, buddy.’

He listened to his best friend calm down.

‘Swear to me!’ Happy ordered him.

‘I swear.’

‘On Morgan’s life.’

‘Gosh, what are you, twelve?’

‘Fuck you!’

They stayed silent on the phone for a minute, basking in the quietness after the storm, until Happy spoke again.

‘I gotta go to the bathroom. Don’t you dare putting a hole in your head while I’m taking a dump!’

That tore a chuckle from Tony. 

There was silence again. He stared at the sink, at the bathtub with Morgan’s cheetah towel resting on it, at Pepper’s pretty little straw mirror that looked like a sun. He felt ashamed, horrified by the urge he had felt a few minutes before. He’d been able to ask for help, though. But what if Happy hadn’t picked up?

He heard three soft knocks on the door.

‘Tony.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Can I come in?’

‘Yeah.’

He heard the door open to his left and felt her presence, silent and still in the doorway, but he couldn’t look at her. He felt her eyes on him, waiting. She didn’t say a word. Behind her, he heard the distinct sound of an Iron Suit stepping forward or back. Of course she had asked F.R.I.D.A.Y if he was okay and the AI had blabbed everything to her. She had found out he was suicidal, asked if he had a gun and when the AI had answered in the negative, had decided to order some Suit to fly over here just in case he needed to be restrained or sent to the hospital in no time... The crushing shame made it difficult, but he finally turned his head up and looked at her. It was clear that she was in pain. His phone call to Happy had probably reassured her, but he couldn’t protect her from the truth indefinitely.

_ I can’t do this. _

‘Happy, you don’t need to come, I got this’, she said.

‘You sure?’

‘I’ll call you back if I need you.’

‘Okay…’

They stared at each other.

‘She’s asleep’, she said.

‘Did you hear?’ he asked.

She leaned against the open door and crossed her arms.

‘Not all of it.’

‘But you heard enough.’

She didn’t answer him. She suddenly turned and walked out, clearly to get some steam off her chest and compose herself, only to reappear a few seconds later.

‘I want you to be very honest with me, Tony. Please, no lying, no joking, no beating around the bush. Promise me.’

He nodded. _ Shit. _

‘Were you really going to kill yourself tonight, here, in our house, with Morgan under the same roof?’

‘No.’

‘Tony.’

‘I said no.’

‘Well it sounded like you were.’

‘I thought about it, had a nervous breakdown, shit happens. I got help, called Happy, talked about it. I’m never gonna do that to you, to both of you, I promise.’

‘Why do I feel like you’re still lying to me?’

‘I’m not.’

‘Or are you lying to yourself too?’

He didn’t reply.

‘I think you should go to rehab.’

‘Oh,_ please!’ _he exclaimed, scoffing at how ridiculous the idea was.

‘I’m serious, Tony. People who get those kinds of urges get help. They get committed.’

‘Fantastic idea. Tony Stark institutionalized. Can’t wait for Everhart to find out.’

‘Fuck the media! Tony, you wanna kill yourself!’ She said, breaking down. ‘How am I supposed to react?’ 

She was crying now.

‘Hey, hey… Peps…’

‘And _ why? _ Why, Tony? If you really wanna fuck that kid just _ do _ it, don’t fucking _ kill _ yourself!’ she cried out through her tears.

‘Peps…’ he grabbed his cane to stand up.

‘No. No. God, I can’t deal with this. I can’t do this’, she said, walking out.

Getting up fucking hurt.

‘I’ll go to therapy again!’ 

‘Oh, oh I bet you will.’

He couldn’t stand it when she cried, all the more so as it didn’t happen often _ at all. _ Quite the contrary.

‘Hey, hey… I… I’m sorry... I’m fucked up. That alien treatment… I feel… weirdly disconnected from my own body, and I hate that fucking arm, I…’ he advanced with difficulty towards her, his body weight supported by the prosthetic arm and the cane he hated just as much. Tony saw her looking at them, her expression softening to one of _ pity. _

‘Then just talk to me… I’m here to help you, to support you through all this. But, Tony… I heard you... We both know this is about Peter Parker too. We need to talk about him... I wanted to after… after that conversation we had that day you figured out time travel. God, I still can’t believe it...’

Tony nodded and braced himself. She was going to leave him; leave him and take full custody of Morgan. He would lose his wife _ and _ his little girl. Well, then… committing suicide would be much easier after that.

‘How much did you hear?’ he muttered.

‘Everything after you told him you loved the kid too much.’

Tony sighed and rested his left hand on the kitchen counter. He realized Pepper was pouring herself a glass of red wine she had used to cook some delicious beef Burgundy earlier that day.

‘Honey…’

‘Oh, don’t you ‘honey’ me right now.’ 

He looked down.

‘I know you’re in pain’, she went on, ‘but this… this is a challenge.’

‘A challenge?’

‘Yes. I need wine’, she added, taking a mouthful of the dark liquid and swallowing it in a loud gulp. ‘What was that phone call in the middle of the night about?’ 

She didn’t look at him when she asked him that question. How could he do that to her… after everything she’d done for him… after Morgan…

‘He told me he loved me. I told him I didn’t. That’s it. And then… I kind of lost it.’

_ ‘Kind of?’ _

Tony didn’t reply.

‘Why did you tell him you didn’t?’ She asked, turning her head to look at him straight in the eye. He maintained her daring glare, silently imploring her not to make him say it.

‘You know why.’

‘No, I don’t. Why did you need to say it in the first place?’

_ Shit. _

She went on when he didn’t reply.

‘Isn’t that weird? Shouldn’t it be obvious that you don’t love him back, him being a _ child _ and you in your fifties?’

He squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed the counter again.

‘I’m sorry’, she said after a moment, and only then did Tony realize that he was crying again. He heard her move and she hugged him. He buried his face into her hair.

‘I’m sorry. I know you’re in pain, but it doesn’t mean I can ignore my own feelings. I love you. I love you Tony, and I always will, but this is _ a lot, _ you know?’

Once again, he couldn’t speak.

‘Come, let’s sit on the couch.’

She guided him out of the kitchen, letting him rest some of his weight on her, taking his left arm. They sat down in front of the fireplace where they’d had all their crucial conversations since moving here all those years ago. Tony stopped himself from asking for some wine though he fucking craved it right now. He focused on the familiar, relaxing sound of the crickets outside.

‘When does he turn sixteen?’

He almost got a crick in his neck when he turned his head too quickly.

‘Ow.’

‘Do you even know?’

‘Peps…’

‘I mean… he’ll be legal, then, here...’

’Seventeen.’

‘What?’

‘He’s already sixteen. He’ll turn seventeen in August.’

‘So he’s already legal, then. Good.’

‘No, age of consent is seventeen’, he whispered.

‘In New York yes, but not here.’

‘What?’

‘It’s sixteen here in Georgia.’

Tony was stunned.

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘I’m trying to stay rational. You’re in love with him and he loves you too. Maybe all you need to do in order to get better is to act on it.’

He stared at her as if she’d sold pictures of Morgan to the paparazzi.

‘You’re suggesting I cheat on you?’

‘I don’t own you’, she simply said, before adding: ‘just like you don’t own me.’

‘Pepper… I… I love you, you know I do.’

‘I think so, yes, I do.’

‘And I always will.’

‘And you always will.’

Tony was still staring at her. She stared back.

‘I don’t wanna hurt you…’

‘Too late for that’, she dead-panned. ‘but I know it’s not your fault. It’s clearly been eating you out for years. I know… how intense it obviously is, I’m not stupid. I know I can’t compete with that.’

‘Compete? Nobody can compete with _ you! _’

‘Except a sixteen year-old genius’, she sadly said.

Tony sat back and stared at the rows of books in front of him. The crickets seemed too loud now.

‘Are you leaving me?’ he asked her.

‘Are _ you _ leaving me?’ she asked back.

‘No, never. Never, you hear me?’ he said firmly, leaning forward and putting his left hand on her knee. ‘You?’ he asked in a small voice after a pause.

She took her time to respond. Tony’s blood froze.

‘I don’t want to’, she finally said, meaning _ I’ll have to. _

‘But you will.’

‘If this were just sex… if this was a fling, Tony… we could work it out. But it isn’t, is it?’ 

When Tony didn’t answer, she went on. 

‘Honey, it took you _ years _to stop confusing my name with his during sex.’ Tony’s heart jumped in his throat. ‘Like I said, we don’t own each other, but if you start having an affair with him…’

‘I won’t.’

‘If you do–’

‘I won’t, he’s a kid.’

‘_If you do, _then I won’t have a choice. I won’t be the good wife waiting for her husband to come home after…’

‘I won’t touch him. I mean, how could I? He could be…’

‘Your son... Morgan’s brother.’

‘Yeah.’

There was something of the old days in the air. They were back to their familiar banter more than a decade ago, she his assistant scolding him after a night of crazy drunken sex and he feigning regret and promising her he’d never do it again. He always broke his promises. He wondered if she was having the same feeling of déjà vu. He leaned over to her and put his head on her shoulder. She let him. They just hugged each other for a few minutes.

‘I need… some time’, she said. ‘I want you to go to rehab.’

‘Okay.’

He would do anything. Anything not to lose her.

‘You need therapy and proper medication.’

‘Okay.’

‘You can’t be left alone for a while.’

He swallowed.

‘Okay.’

He kissed her neck as she stood up. She helped him up and they went back to bed together. Half an hour later, Morgan was back in their bedroom after a nightmare. They spent the night tucked in all together in the same bed, family peace and quiet restored until dawn. Tony was the first to wake up to a ray of orange light caressing his face. He gazed at his little miss fast asleep in her mother’s embrace. No, he couldn’t do that to her; last night had been a stroke of madness. He would get help and get better for her. As for Peter… well... what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t do anything except make sure he was okay. He would ask Happy to send him daily updates just like during the old days.

A few hours earlier, in the quiet neighborhood down 66th Avenue, Queens, lying alone in his tiny bedroom, Peter Parker was pressing his phone to his cheek long after the end of his call, frozen, eyes shut and brow high in a silent look of deep longing and pain. He opened his eyes after a while, and then his hand slowly separated his phone from the side of his face.

_ It’s done. _

He slowly put the device on his bedside table, turned to face the wall, pulled the covers over his shoulders and up to his nose, and fell asleep surprisingly fast, feeling emotionally drained, the sweetness of Tony’s voice still in his ears.

* * *

The following morning, Peter woke up to the sound of his phone buzzing. His body was all soft and warm and heavy; he didn’t want to wake up even if he wasn’t really asleep anymore. He didn’t want to move at all. And then he remembered what had happened during the night and hid his face under his pillow to block the sound of May calling him. 

When was he going to stop being in pain?

‘Comin’!’ he groggily cried out to May.

The text was probably from Ned or MJ. He was probably late. They had a final assignment to do even if it was optional and most students didn’t have class anymore: prepare a Powerpoint presentation on their crazy trip to Europe —_ ‘for posterity’ _ , Mr. Harrington had said. _ Fantastic. _ They had agreed to work on it as a group of four, Betty—who, for some reason, wasn’t Ned’s girlfriend anymore— included. 

Fuck, how was he going to survive _ that_… He didn’t want to get up _ at all. _

What if the text was from Tony? He remembered his voice… _ ‘Pete, Peter… Peter, please…’ _

He tossed and turned in bed. Fuck morning wood. His phone buzzed again. He finally grabbed it, letting out an annoyed, sleepy groan. He had two texts, and one of them was from Tony. He was still labeled as ‘Unknown’ in this new high-tech phone Happy had given him.

**From Unknown, 8:42am: How are you?**

It pissed him off.

To Unknown, 9:45am: Fantastic.

He opened the other tab. He had a text from MJ.

**From MJ, 9:44am: How are you? **

_ Are you fucking kidding me right now? _he asked the God he didn’t believe in.

To MJ, 9:46am: Better. I just needed a good night’s sleep in my own bed. You?

**From MJ, 9:48am: Better too, but still a little in shock, I guess. You’re late. Still wanna work on the ppt today?**

To MJ, 9:49am: Sure. I’ll call Ned. 11 in robotics lab?

**From MJ, 9:50am: Already here, we’ll wait for you, no worries.**

A new text popped up with her last one.

**From Unknown, 9:50pm: You’ll get over me.**

Peter hissed and then let the air out really slowly through his lips, eyes closed. He typed fast.

To Unknown, 9:50am: Stop texting me

He got up and went straight to the shower. He tried to ignore his fucking erection and worked on washing himself fast, using ice-cold water. It helped soothe his aching body, penis included. When he was done, he realized he’d forgotten to take clothes with him, which he usually did. He left the bathroom still wet and only wearing a tower and almost knocked May over.

‘Whoo, careful there!’ she chuckled. ‘Good morning, handsome’, she said, kissing him on the cheek. ‘Your friend called.’

‘Morning, May. Yeah, I know, I’m late.’

‘How are you?’

_ Fucking question_, he hated, _ hated _ it.

‘Much better, thanks.’

‘Get some clothes on and come quickly before I eat all the pancakes.’

When he got back to his room, he didn’t have a look at his phone but it was like trying to ignore a volcano erupting right next to him. He quickly dressed, casting furtive glances at it but resisted the urge. He was a superhero after all. He joined May in the little kitchen area, his head reeling. His aunt was even sweeter to him than usual and it was clear she was still quite worried about him. After a while she asked him if he still didn’t want to talk about his nightmare.

‘I– no, thank you… I’d prefer not to’, he replied in a breathy voice.

‘It’s okay, just remember I’m here. If you ever need to talk or… if you need anything at all, honey, I’m here.’

‘Thanks’, he smiled at her.

‘So… Happy and I…’

‘God, May, not now, please. I… I know you’re together– ’

‘Well, not exactly.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

‘He told me you had a girlfriend.’

Peter choked on his orange juice.

‘Oh honey, I’m sorry, I should’ve given you a warning’, she chuckled, patting his back.

‘S’okay’, he coughed.

‘So… your little plan turned out more than okay, didn’t it?’ she beamed at him.

‘Yeah… Yeah, yeah, yeah. I – yeah.’

God, his life was so fucked up...

‘Did you kiss?’

‘May!’

‘Sorry. I’m just curious.’ She was clearly enjoying herself.

‘Well, yeah…’

‘Oh, baby!’ she squealed. ‘Come on, give me five!’

They shared a high-five, Peter then unable not to feel pleased with himself despite the crazy situation he was in.

‘Yeah, she’s… she’s really smart… and cute…’

‘Aaaw!’

They ate in silence for a minute before May inevitably started giving him the talk.

‘Listen, if you two ever…’

‘Oh, May, please, I know.’

‘No, Peter, I need you to listen to me anyway. I want to make sure you’re prepared for this.’

_ Christ… _

‘I am. I mean, no, that’s not what I mean, I mean, I know what to do, not that we’re gonna do anything but like, I know what to do, what I’m_ not _supposed to do and– ’

‘Always carry condoms. Plural, in case one of them breaks’, she said lifting a finger to mark her words.

‘May!’ he whined, his face turning crimson.

‘Practise putting one on, it’s a lot harder than it looks.’

‘Oh my god.’

‘I can buy you some if you’re too embarrassed.’

He was hiding his face in his hands now.

‘And whatever you do, always ask for her consent first. Be gentle, communicate’, she said, articulating the last word in an exaggerated way. ‘Okay, sweetie?’

‘Mmh-hmm’, he nodded, eyes still shut.

‘Oh, one more thing, if the condom breaks…’

‘Oh my god, May! I know! I know, go straight to a pharmacy and buy a morning-after pill, don’t wait.’

‘That’s my Peter. And if she’s on the pill, use a condom anyway, just in case–’

‘I know! I know, can we just… talk about something else now?’

‘Promise me you’ll be careful.’

‘I promise’, he said, looking her in the eye.

‘Alright, we’re done here! Want some more syrup?’

He finally had a look at his phone during the bus ride to Midtown Tech.

**From Unknown, 9:56am: That’s a bit harsh.**

To Unknown, 10:42am: Please respect me. Stop texting me.

This was what he needed to do, cut all ties with Tony Stark; finally free himself from the hold the older man had on his life, on his heart, on his mental health. He couldn’t bear his wit, his teasing, his sarcasm anymore. Not now than he _ knew. _When he got off the bus, he wiped a tear off with the sleeve of his hoodie.

When he spotted MJ in the hall waiting for him, they awkwardly walked towards each other and then, once they were close, she gave him a shy smile and they leaned forward at the same time, both missing their targets. They ended up sharing a very awkward peck. Someone snickered behind them.

_ God, I’m so bad at this, _ they both thought.

They walked in silence towards the robotics lab where Ned and Betty were waiting for them, and they worked on their assignment for an hour and a half, Peter painfully reliving memories he didn’t want to think about. He swallowed his discomfort. Ned and MJ were very much aware of it but Betty wasn’t, and they found excuses for him to solely focus on Venetian architecture and art after he whispered to Ned that it was the only portion of the trip he had really enjoyed. He had still been an innocent kid then to some extent, even after the trauma of Titan, unaware of the impending threats that would upset his life forever. 

They ate some tacos a few blocks from Midtown Tech in a place usually full of students. It was strange to see it almost empty, most kids already on summer vacation. His mind kept drifting back to Tony, but whenever he thought about him, he remembered that humiliating illusion and he always mentally corrected himself: _ Mr. Stark _ not _ Tony._ Don’t ever say Tony again, _ ever. _

At around 2:30, they decided to hang out together at Ned’s and Peter couldn’t resist having another look at his phone. Mr. Stark hadn’t texted him back. But wasn’t that what he’d asked for? For the man never to text him again? 

_ What if he actually did it? _ He wondered in a panic. He tried to stop himself from feeling any regret but failed. 

In the middle of the street, MJ took his arm and planted a kiss on his cheek. He stopped in his tracks and wrapped his arms around her.

‘Are you my girlfriend?’ God, he sounded like a child.

‘Do you want me to be?’ she asked in a small voice like his own.

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay. I mean, yes, I’d like that.’

They broke their hug and stared at each other, Ned and Betty a few feet away, leaving them some privacy. Peter leaned in. It felt good to kiss her. Her lips were soft.

They shared a few more kisses that day, each one as sweet as the others. He rested his hand above hers and she pressed her shoulder against his while they all watched some comedy. Around five, Betty put on a show about kids being chased by aliens. Peter felt _ very _ uncomfortable watching it, reacting to the suspenseful and violent scenes in a visceral way. He suddenly got up during a scene involving a man being eaten alive by an alien and left, mumbling a weak _ gotta pee_, his face as white as a sheet. Ned and MJ exchanged a worried look.

He threw up in Ned’s toilet but was a little too late. Vomit splashed onto the toilet seat, his pants, his shoes, the tiled floor and even the wall. 

‘Peter, are you okay?’ Ned asked through the bathroom door.

_ No! No, I am not okay! I wanna fucking die right now! _

‘Yeah, sorry… I think my taco was a bit funky… I… I’m gonna need some cleaning product...’

‘Okay, okay. Wait a minute!’

He saw _ pity _ in MJ’s face afterwards and couldn’t bear it. He went home. Of course he couldn’t sleep. Susan had called during the day. His appointment was the next day. He cancelled it, pretexting wanting to spend some time with his friends. After a few texts from MJ and Ned, his phone buzzed again at 11:12pm. He looked at it without thinking.

**From Unknown, 11:12pm: When that shit first happens, you feel like it’s the end of the world, but it’s not. You’re perfect, kid. You’ll find someone.**

**11:14pm: Btw, heard you had a cute girlfriend. Have fun, kid.**

‘Fuck you’, Peter whispered to the screen, fighting back tears. 

He never replied to Mr. Stark’s texts.

* * *

Friday June 30, 2023.

He saw MJ every day during that week. They went on casual dates, going to the theater to watch some comedies, even going to see a Broadway play together, Peter enjoying her quirky outlook on everything and her little affectionate gestures. It felt good to be touched by somebody like that, and never in his life had he been so aware of his own hands, arms, shoulders and hips. During a movie, she boldly put her hand on his knee and then started moving it ever so slightly, up and down, up and down, caressing his thigh close to the knee. He pretended to be cool about it, but he was screaming inside, growing hot and bothered by the minute. When she stopped, he barely restrained himself from asking her to put her hand back. Not touching himself right then and there felt like a feat in itself, but he had to readjust his pants and she noticed, slightly smirking although her face was still glued to the screen.

And so it happened. 

Naturally, inevitably, and it was as cringingly awkward as he had feared it would be.

‘Wait, wait, wait… I… I don’t know if I’m ready for this.’

‘Oh sorry! Sorry’, he breathed.

‘No, no, no, I don’t know but… but maybe I am.’

‘Oh. Okay?’

‘It’s just… I… this is… this is a lot’, MJ added.

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Can you… can you please step back?’

‘Oh! Oh god, I’m so sorry!’ 

Peter was losing his mind. He was _ so _ hard. She looked into his eyes. They were in her bedroom. Her parents and little brother were away. They had been kissing, actually French-kissing for the first time and it had made him wild with hot lust. He’d had no idea tongues sliding together like that would feel so fucking good. Her eyes nervously went down to his rock-hard penis straining against the left side of his jeans. 

And then she_ palmed _ it.

‘Oh!’ he gasped. He panted even louder, looking up at her with wide eyes.

‘I’m sorry, is this okay? I should’ve asked first, I don’t really know what I’m doing right now.’

She would always lose her usual blasé drawl whenever they kissed, her tone higher and sweeter, her words faster. He struggled to solicit enough brain cells to answer her.

‘No, it’s okay, it’s just… a little… overwhelming’, he said between heavy breaths. She brought her lips back to his and then said, still in her little shy voice.

‘Can I see?’

_ Ooooh my God. _ He could hear his heart in his ears. He thought about it for a second and then timidly nodded at her. She gulped before her hands reached for the top button of his jeans above his fly.

‘Wait’, he stopped her, suddenly very nervous. ‘Are you sure about this? I mean, really, really sure?’

‘Yes’, she said, averting her eyes. She didn’t look sure at all. ‘Are _ you _ sure?’

‘Yeah’, he breathed, then gulped nervously like her.

They shared another deep kiss, Peter feeling himself literally melt.

_ This is happening. Is this happening? _

‘Bed’, she whispered against his lips.

They sat on her bed and took their shirts off first. He stared blankly at her hands tightly wrapped in embarrassment around her bra. She was gaping at his toned chest. They shared a shy smile.

‘I’m sorry… I… don’t feel very confident about how I look’, she muttered.

‘You look perfect.’

‘Huh… I don’t think so… my… I don’t like them’, she said, looking down at her covered breasts.

‘I’m sure they’re perfect too.’

‘_You’re _ perfect. I mean… look at _that_’, she said in a louder voice, pointing at his chest with her chin.

Peter let out a little breathy laugh. He didn’t know what to say. They were both on their knees on her bed about to have sex for the first time, not knowing what to do. They sat back and stayed like that for what felt like an hour in awkward silence. Her eyes kept traveling down to his crotch.

‘I don’t know if I’m ready’, she repeated, her voice small and apologetic. She looked so cute and… vulnerable. 

‘It’s okay, I… I don’t really know if_ I’m _ ready’, he said, mirroring her shy expression. ‘We don’t have to do anything, and anyway… I don’t know how to do this, I mean… how to… properly do it, so…’

‘It shouldn’t be too hard’, she said with a lopsided smile.

He laughed a little at her pun, blushing.

‘How does it feel like?’ she asked, curious, still looking at his crotch covered by his hands.

‘What? Oh, oh this? Um… hard… stiff… like… there’s a lot of pressure and… um…’

‘Is it painful?’ The way she asked that, almost whispering, made him even harder.

‘Y— well, not… not really’, he added, thinking of everything he’d gone through. No, this wasn’t pain. ‘It’s just… sometimes a little… too much… straining and…’

‘And?’

‘It’s hard not to…’

‘Yeah?’

His eyes couldn’t fully sustain her curious gaze and adorably drifted away to her body, his lips tight in a shy smile. 

‘Touch it?’ she finished for him, whispering very softly.

He nodded almost imperceptibly. In a second she was all over him, pinning him to the bed, planting dozens of little kisses all over his face, hair and neck, straddling him. His hands were frozen, lifted up next to either side of her body, not daring to touch, but when she put her tongue inside his mouth again, his arms wrapped around her by instinct and his hips went up, grazing her right where her…

_ Oh God. _

She broke the kiss, panting.

‘Sorry!’ he exclaimed.

‘Fuck’, she just said, eyes closed. She sat back on his thighs still not opening them and he contemplated her above him. It looked like a dream. He realized his hands were gripping her hips.

‘Oh sorry’, he repeated, taking them off her, and she laughed.

‘You can touch me all you want, Peter Parker.’

‘Okay… You can touch me too… Michelle Jones’, he said, awkwardly.

‘God, please no, just MJ.’

‘Sorry.’

They were laughing again. He noticed her eyes were a little glassy.

‘Are you okay? We can stop whenever you want’, he told her.

‘Do you want to stop?’ she asked him.

‘Do_ you _ want to stop?’

She hesitated before replying, looking almost ashamed to say it. ‘No.’

‘Okay.’ 

‘So…’

‘Yeah…’

‘You...do you...want to…’, she stammered.

‘Yeah. Yeah.’

_ Oh my god, is this really, really happening right now? Oh my god! _

‘Do you… do you have a –’

‘Yes!’ he nearly shouted. ‘Sorry, uh, it’s– it’s in my backpack. Front pocket.’

She lifted herself off his thighs and got up to retrieve it. When she sat on the bed again, she stared at the little square blue packet. Her hands were shaking. He sat up next to her, trying not to gape at her small and perky bra-covered tits. He realized his mouth was hanging open and closed it.

‘I think we should wait. It’s– it’s fine, it really is, there’s no r –’

Her hand was suddenly on his lips. She was staring at them and then she parted them with her fingers, Peter’s hot labored breath on them, gently caressing the inside of his bottom lip. It was the hottest thing Peter had ever experienced in his life. 

‘Is this okay?’ she whispered. He didn’t need to say yes. Their eyes met. It was impossible to describe what they shared with that look but Peter knew he would always remember that moment. With a lustful, almost pained expression that mirrored his, her hands went behind her back and she took her bra off. Peter didn’t look down right away, the gesture alone giving him pleasure. His eyes were locked into hers. He still didn’t look down when his right hand went up to come into contact with her left breast. He cupped it, her nipple hard against his palm. His breathing faltered.

‘I don’t think I will last very long’, he whispered, smiling at her apologetically with tender eyes.

Her only response was to open up the button of his jeans, but she didn’t go all the way and open his zipper. Instead, she stood up and pulled her pants down, instantly sitting down again, hiding herself with her arms on her thighs, her shy smile not leaving her face. Her panties were gone too, he noticed. He could see her bare hips. She was completely naked now, except for her socks. His entire body was trembling. He realized she was trembling too. She had never looked so embarrassed and unsure of herself, all curled up into herself like that. The room was silent except for their soft panting, and then they heard the faint noise of a siren outside. He opened his zipper. He pulled at his jeans, but not as his boxers. His right foot got stuck, prompting him to shake it then pull at the fabric around his ankle, making him feel even more awkward. He didn’t have time to apologize for the millionth time before she was already kissing him again, but this time, oh, this time, she was_ naked. _

Her skin against his own was a revelation. 

It was so soft… silky soft and warm… She went above him again, _ yes, yes, oh yes… _She lifted herself with her hands on either side of his face and...

_ No, not that memory, not now. _

He closed his eyes and gripped her hips, her naked hips, as if he could anchor his mind on them to prevent himself from drifting away and he didn’t hear what she said to him.

‘Ow.’

His eyes popped open.

‘Oh, I’m sorry!’

‘It’s okay.’

And then she was gone. She pulled the covers and lay onto her back under them next to him, gently pulling at his arm. She wanted him to lie on top of her. He obliged, going under the covers too, lying on top of her, pressing his erection against her thigh, shaking more than ever as she wrapped her legs around him, making him press against her… _ there. _

He looked at her then. She was even prettier from above like that. He was on top of a beautiful, naked girl, about to penetrate her, trying not to panic. His heart was hammering in his chest. She pressed her hand against his heart and grabbed his right hand for him to do the same to her. They stared at each other with emotion, feeling each other’s heartbeats. Yes, they would both remember this moment for the rest of their lives.

She tugged at his boxers and, with no warning, put her hand inside them and released him. Her mouth was hanging open as she wrapped her hand around him and she watched him roll his eyes in pleasure, completely silent for the first three seconds of contact. It was the first time anyone touched him there. It was too much. He then let out a short, pained moan and abruptly grabbed her wrist.

‘No. I’ll come’, he managed to say.

‘Sorry.’

He buried his head in the crook of her neck, trying to calm himself down. His senses were going crazy. Her scent, her warmth, the hot wetness between her legs. He could smell her _ there. _He was trying really hard not to come right now.

‘Ow.’

‘Oh, sorry, sorry…’

He was so fucking stupid. Of course he was heavy… He pushed himself up onto his forearms. 

‘Sorry’, he lamely repeated.

‘Is your body… special in that way too?’

‘What?’

‘I mean… for…’

‘Oh...I… I don’t know.’

She tugged at the boxers again, pulling them down. He took it from there, but when he discarded them, he looked down and saw her. _ There. _

_ Fuck. _

‘Where’s… where’s the…’ he stammered.

‘Here.’

He grabbed the packet that was on the bed next to them, opened it and… she was watching him. He began to turn around.

‘No, don’t! I wanna see… if… if that’s okay.’

‘This is embarrassing.’

‘Why? You’re really pretty, remember?’

He smiled at that. When she first saw him fully naked, he felt extremely vulnerable, just like her a few seconds ago. He tried to get to work and put the condom at the tip of his cock but his fingers were shaking too much. What if the mere contact of his fingers made him come? He knew he could control himself if he really focused but he felt basically brain-dead. He pulled down. The condom tore.

‘Shit.’

_ Guess May had a point… _

‘Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?’

‘No, no, it…’

‘Oh.’

‘I have another one’, he said, getting up to retrieve it. His dick bounced ridiculously as he did so. His left hand quickly covered it. When he turned around, the sight of MJ naked on the bed made him think of one of the beautiful Renaissance paintings they’d seen in Venice.

He tried again, slowly this time, but it wouldn’t slide properly down his shaft, it kept going back up. He silently struggled with that fucking thing, even trying to put a finger under it to make it go down. He was shaking so much... _ Goddammit! _

‘Do you need any help?’

‘Uh… Uh…’ he said just before tearing the latex again. ‘Fuck! Shit, I’m so sorry!’

She giggled. ‘It’s okay.’

‘No, it’s not, I don’t have any other ones!’

‘Don’t worry, I have tons of them’, she said, her blasé drawl suddenly back.

‘Oh.’

‘I mean, not that I… use them or anything.’

‘Right.’

‘I’m a virgin just so you know…’

‘O-okay, m- me too.’

‘Okay.’

She got up and opened her closet. Peter stared at her small bubble butt feeling as if he’d gone down several steps on the evolution ladder. She handed him another one, a black packet this time.

‘I hope it’s the right size’, she said matter-of-factly.

It was strangely reassuring to have her talking normally like that when they were both completely naked.

‘Thanks, uh, I… I’m not very big.’

‘Okay…’

_ Okay? What does she mean by that? With that tone? Why that tone? Is she disappointed? _

She must have seen something on his face because she quickly added : ‘I can see it right now, Peter. It _ is _ big.’

‘What? No. No, it isn’t.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘No, it’s not… _ big._’

‘Well I’m the one who’s gonna feel it inside me so I feel like I should be the authority on that.’

He barely understood her sentence. _ Yep, not enough blood in my brain right now. _

‘Come here, let me do it.’

‘What?’

‘Let me do it. You have too much strength and you’re too nervous. You’ll tear it again.’

He sat down next to her and she put a hand on his muscular chest to make him lie down. In an instant, she was back to her shy, nervous self. She tore the packet open and paused, staring at his erection. Peter waited. She was frozen, just looking at his cock in silence. He lay back down and closed his eyes, hands going up to hide his face in embarrassment. What was she thinking right now? Did she think it was ugly?

‘Is it bad if…’

‘What?’ Peter opened his eyes.

‘Is it bad if…’ she tried again, still unable to finish.

‘If… if what?’

_ ...if I want to stop now, because you disgust me, _ his mind finished for her.

‘I wanna…’

_ Oh my God, is she suggesting we do it without a condom? _

‘What? No, we can’t! Oh my god, MJ, think about the–’

‘No, not that!’ she exclaimed. ‘No. I… I wanna… I wanna…’

‘Stop?’

She laughed.

‘No. I wanna… do… this.’

_ Oh my god… Oh my god… _

She leaned down and planted a kiss at the tip of his erection.

‘Is this okay?’

He couldn’t talk. He only then realized his eyes were closed but before he could open them again, the entire head of his cock was inside her mouth.

He couldn’t utter a single sound, couldn’t even breathe. She went even farther. He exhaled very loudly and heard a little moan coming from her and that was what did it. ‘Ooooh stop! Stop! Stop…Ha!’, he panted, eyes squeezed shut, inevitably coming, his mind blown by the pleasure and cringing in embarrassment at the same time. 

‘I’m sorry!’ he hissed, still coming. ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry…’

He didn’t dare open his eyes. MJ was completely silent. And then she just said: ‘That was so hot.’

Peter opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling covered in little fluorescent stars forming perfect replicas of constellations. ‘You’re not mad?’

‘What? _ Mad? _ I just made you come! How could I be _ mad? _’

He gasped as her hand came into contact with him again, caressing his still rock-hard shaft. She then lifted her fingers to her face.

‘No, don’t!’

‘Why?’

‘Just, just don’t.’

She did it anyway, smelling the transparent liquid.

‘Smells weird.’

Peter wanted to disappear into the mattress. When he looked at her again, her fingers were on her lips. She was_ tasting _ it.

‘Why are you doing this?’

MJ had a thoughtful expression on her face as if she was tasting some expensive wine.

‘Not as bad as I thought’, came her verdict. ‘Peter, why am I doing this? Really? You do know I’m straight, right?’

‘I… this is weird.’

‘Yeah… sex is weird’, she just replied, shrugging.

His eyes went down to her dark nipples and further down to her sex. 

‘I… can I do the same to you?’

‘Oh! Oh. No. Definitely not.’

‘Oh… sorry’, Peter mumbled, misinterpreting the reasons for her refusal.

‘I… I… not yet.’

‘Okay.’

They cuddled for a while, MJ clearly still very aroused, but she was adamant: she didn’t want him to touch her there. He took a quick shower and when he came back, she was still naked, looking more aroused than ever.

‘Can I touch you again?’ she asked shyly.

‘Uh… uh yeah.’

‘You’re still hard. Is that normal?’

‘I don’t know…’ he muttered.

‘Maybe it’s because you’re Spider-Man.’

She took him into her hand again and he hissed.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Aah…N– no…’ 

‘Do you…’ she stopped herself.

‘Yeah?’

‘Do you think you could…’

‘Yeah, yeah!’

Before he could fully realize what they were doing, she was slipping a condom around him, making him unable to breathe again. She lay next to him, went under the covers and pulled at his arm just as she had before. He felt a little as if he was sleepwalking, slowly lying on top of her. He had the weird desire to bury his face against her pubic hair.

‘Can I… Can I look? Just look?’ he shyly asked.

‘What? Oh, oh, please… please don’t.’

‘What? Why?’

‘It’s… it’s ugly.’

‘Ugly?’ Peter couldn’t believe his ears right now.

‘I don’t like it. Please, please… just go inside of me. I’m not ready for you to… to look at me there…’

Peter paused. How could pushing his dick inside of her be less intimate than showing him her vagina? And she had taken him inside of her own mouth! ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, God yes, please, Peter, I’m sure.’

She looked really, _ really _ turned on. He believed her.

‘Can I kiss your… chest?’

She nodded at him, panting. He brought his head to her tits and planted slow, little kisses there and then wrapped his lips around her right nipple, making her utter a little high-pitched moan.

‘Oh, oh I want you inside me, please, please, Peter go inside me now.’

He was almost blind from lust. He lifted himself to fully align his body with hers again and his cock slid against her wet thighs and finally, her wet entrance. She was so, so very wet.

‘I… I don’t know…’ he panted, unable to finish.

She grabbed him and guided him, and then he pushed, going in a little.

Her breathing stuttered and accelerated. Peter heard his aunt’s voice — _‘communicate’. _

‘You okay?’ he managed to say.

Her hands suddenly wrapped around his butt, pulling him down. He pushed in and saw stars as he entered her almost half-way in.

‘Aaaah!’

His body acted on instinct. He had to push all the way, he just had to. He faintly heard MJ cry out. His mind was blank with pleasure. It was… it was… _ fuck. _ He was going to come soon, very soon. His entire body was screaming for him to pound into her but he stopped, remembering May, remembering his anatomy classes, remembering MJ, a virgin, panting under him. He looked at her face. Her eyes were squeezed shut in a pained expression.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked in a high voice.

She didn’t answer. 

‘MJ?’ he asked, brow furrowing in worry.

‘I— I need a minute. Don’t – don’t move. Please.’

She was in pain. The fact that she was saying please sent shivers down his spine. What a fucked-up world if even a virgin girl had to ask nicely not to be hurt like that. He instantly sobered up.

‘We can stop. I can pull back right now, it’s okay.’

_ I’m inside of her. I’m inside of her. I’m inside of her. _

‘No! No, no, don’t. Stay, stay like that, don’t move. Aah, actually, actually just move a little, aah! Ah, not like that, not like that! Ow!’

‘I— I don’t know what to do!’

‘Just… don’t move at all.’

He noticed it then, the tear on her cheek.

‘Oh my god, you’re crying, you –’

‘No! No don’t pull back, don’t pull back… Please, Peter. I’m okay, just, you’re crushing me and… Ah, no! Don’t do that! It hurts when you do that!’

‘When I pull back?’

‘Yes. Yes.’

‘I’m so sorry! I— MJ, we should stop, I don’t wanna hurt you.’

‘No! Please. Just stay like that but not with your body weight fully on me and don’t move your… your…’

It was cute the way she stumbled on the word when it was inside of her right now.

‘Okay.’

He stayed above her, wiping tears from her cheeks.

‘I’m a virgin, it was always going to hurt, it’s okay, really.’

Peter thought it wasn’t, even though he knew basic anatomy too.

‘It’s not fair. It feels amazing for me.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah… God, yeah, you have no idea.’

‘Tell me.’

‘It’s…soft and tight at the same time. Really, really tight and hot and wet and… perfect.’ She smiled and he involuntarily shifted his hips a little, making her gasp. ‘Oh sorry! Sorry, I’m such a jerk, I didn’t –’

‘No, do that again!’, she breathed out very quickly.

‘What?’

‘That, what you just did, that… that felt really good.’

‘This?’ He did it again, jerking his hips a little upward without sliding back beforehand.

‘Ah!’, MJ cried out, clearly from pleasure this time.

_ I’m inside of her. _

He did it again, with more force.

‘Hooo my god!’ she gasped.

_ Inside her. _

And again. He tore another shaky moan from her.

_ Fuck yes. _

And then he slid back and pounded into her, his stupid cock taking over his brain.

‘Ow!’ she cried out. He froze. ‘Ow, that hurt, that really hurt...’

‘Sorry!’ he said, panting, feeling like a fucking animal and involuntarily pulling back again by instinct.

‘Ow!’

‘Sorry, sorry! Oh, MJ, I think we should stop.’

‘No!’

‘I’m hurting you!’

‘Do it again, the thing you just did.’

‘No, no I can’t.’

‘It felt so good, Peter! Please!

‘I… I can’t.’

‘Why?’

‘I… I just can’t’, he said into her hair.

‘Please don’t lie on top of me comple – ’

‘Oh my god, sorry! I, I can’t… this is too much, we’d better stop.’

‘No, I’m totally fine, do it again!’

‘I’m sorry, I want to stop.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

‘I… I have to pull back…’

‘Okay.’

When he did, her face scrunched up in obvious pain and she hissed shakily. He winced. He couldn’t bear it. He would hurt her again. He broke faucets and glasses and seatbelts, what if he really, really hurt her too? He had pounded into her mere _ seconds _ after she had _ clearly _told him it hurt her.

He pushed himself away, eyes filled with tears. He ran fingers along his glistening shaft and looked at them; he had to check, and sure enough, it was there, light red on his index and middle finger.

‘Oh, Peter, It’s normal. It’s totally normal. Peter? _Peter?’_

He suddenly couldn’t breathe, the realization like a knife to the heart. What if he couldn’t have sex? What if he always lost control? Wasn’t sex entirely about that? Losing control? What if he killed her? Horrible images made him lose his balance.

‘Peter! Hey! You— you need to breathe, okay? I’m okay, you’re okay, everything’s okay, come on, in and out, in and out, slowly... slowly… slowly… I’m fine, I’m totally fine, this is basic biology, this is normal, you’re so nice and sweet, you’re perfect, _ I love you...’ _

That broke him. He started sobbing, unable to control himself. He had taken her virginity while in love with someone else. What kind of twisted asshole did that?

‘Oh my god, Peter...’ she said in a sweet, high voice.

‘Sorry’, he managed to say for the billionth time. She held him close. ‘I don’t wanna hurt you’, he desperately whispered in between sobs.

‘It wasn’t your fault, you goose! It’s nature!’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘I’m too strong… I’m fucked up... I’ll hurt you…’

‘What?’

‘I won’t… I’ll lose control… I’ll hurt you…’

She didn’t reply, realizing what he meant.

‘I’m sure… there’s a way for you to… to keep control or… or… we can figure out a way… it’s… oh my god…’

She was panicking with him now. He cried even harder.

‘It’s okay… we’ll figure it out, it’s okay… Peter... it’s okay…’

He eventually calmed down. He wasn’t hard at all anymore. He didn’t have to say anything for her to understand this was over for now. And so they put their clothes back on, Peter apologizing to her a hundred times more. She kissed him many times, reassuring him, repeating over and over again that it was the first time and first times were never perfect anyway, but he couldn’t stop feeling ashamed of having cried like that in front of her and the dark thoughts that had caused his panic attack. They hung out a little more before he went home feeling like shit. Maybe she wouldn’t want to try anymore because of what he’d said. He had sensed it very clearly, the fear in her.

May was waiting for him.

‘Hey sweetie, I made some cookies!’ Her face fell when she saw him. ‘Oh, honey, what happened?’

She hugged him._ I must really look like shit. _

‘Did she break up with you?’

He shook his head.

‘Then what is it, then?’

They sat down on the couch together and he told her everything, leaving her frowning, not even trying to hide her concern.

‘That’s… not something I thought about… I’m sorry, I should’ve –’

‘Why are you sorry?’ he said a little too forcefully. ‘This isn’t your fault by any stretch!’

‘But you hurt her because of completely normal reasons, not because of… your abilities, right? And you _ stopped_, honey, you _ listened _ to her, you _ controlled _ yourself, and in the end, you were the one who needed to be reassured and comforted, right?’

‘Right…’

‘So Peter, as far as I know, you have no problem. As long as you keep listening to her and– ’

‘What if I lose control? What if…’

May was at a loss for words.

‘You… could be restrained…’

‘May!’

‘I used to date a guy who…’

‘May, please! I – I don’t wanna talk about it anymore. Thank you, but I just… I’m gonna… go. I’m okay, just, feeling a bit down, s’all.’

‘Okay. If you need to talk – ’

‘Yeah, yeah. Thanks.’

When Peter was out of sight and his bedroom door was closed, May swiftly took her phone out and immediately called Happy. She spoke so fast it took him a few seconds to even know what she was talking about.

‘...I didn’t think about this before but what if he’s right and he can’t have sex because of his strength and I didn’t know what to say to him and he told me he freaked out in front of that girl who was very sweet about it, thank God, and – ’

‘God, May! Just calm down, slow down and start over.’

Happy didn’t know what to say afterwards. That was… quite something to think about. He wished he could ask Cap, but he had a feeling the superhero had kept away from sex at least partially for that very reason…

‘I… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry…’

Tony had asked him to keep an eye on Peter, and every other day Happy sent him the same text: **Nothing to report.** Was he going to tell him about _ that? _ Hell no! He stared down at his phone after his call with May. On the other hand, this could be important… the kid could break down again because of this… and this would remind Tony he had a girlfriend… another reality check, however painful… He didn’t need to be specific at all… just… _ the kid’s feeling down because of some girlfriend issues,_ or something along those lines… 

Happy didn’t know what to do.

From Happy to Tony, 7:23pm: He’s not feeling very well today, girlfriend stuff.

He mentally cringed when he re-read his own message. But what could he have said? The kid’s afraid he’ll tear his girlfriend in half during sex? _ Jesus Christ… Yet another problem… _

**From Tony to Happy, 7:23pm: Details.**

From Happy to Tony, 7:23pm: It’s private.

**From Tony to Happy, 7:23pm: Oh, so sex it is.**

_ Shit. _

From Happy to Tony, 7:26pm: He’s scared of his own strength.

From Happy to Tony, 7:26pm: Gf is okay though.

* * *

Tony put his alcohol-free margarita down. He was currently lounging outside the pool of a luxury facility for suicidal billionaires or some other shit like that and he was constantly being watched by at least two people. Right now it was the hot fake lifeguard to his left and the old nurse knitting some baby socks to his right. 

He had to get out of here.

_Scared of his own strength… _

_Peter had sex... and he freaked out…_

The two thoughts danced in his head for the entire evening. He couldn’t concentrate on anything else. He was just worried about him; it had nothing to do with the fact that he had a girlfriend now and they were having sex. Nothing at all.

It was his eighth day here, but he had concocted at least four different escape plans during his first _hour._ One of them was remarkably simple. All he needed to do was to reach the ground floor bathroom with the scarf he’d pinched from one of the old nurses, slip into the laundry room through a window located right in front of some bushes that blocked the only security camera there, go out incognito as one of them and get the hell out of here before someone noticed his limp. The code at the front door had been a piece of cake to crack. It had to be fast, though. And then he had to reach the woods before getting caught. Pepper had taken control of all his Suits, or so she thought. There was one left, a secret one, and it was already waiting for him in precise coordinates next to the facility. He would leave one of his holo phones in his room with an AI replicating his voice if anyone asked if he was okay; it would maybe buy him a few hours.

_ Fuck, am I really doing this? _

He watched the little granny slowly retrieve another wool ball from the basket at her feet. It was that or death by boredom.

And so he escaped, thoroughly amused by the sneaking out part and only feeling a tiny bit guilty. It started to rain a little. Even better. The most difficult part was walking without his cane and not limping too noticeably, his metal hand deep inside the right pocket of the lab coat he’d found, but the cute chubby woman at the lobby desk let him go without so much as a glance. That book really looked enthralling — he’d offered her Stephen King’s _ The Institute _ on his third day. He grabbed an umbrella someone had left in a basket at the door and walked out. 

He wasn’t doing this because he was freaking out. He was just bored to death and fed up with all the cringy therapy sessions and the constant watching. He would’ve _ maybe _ stayed had there been any interesting people to talk to, but he was basically the only patient there, the few he’d spotted obviously fake. _ Ah, at least they tried... _

He didn’t meet anyone on his way out, but then a car came through the entrance gate and fucking stopped next to him.

‘Excuse me, Ma’am! Is this the Skywoods facility?’

‘Yes, it is’, Tony answered in a high voice he hoped was at least a little convincing, facing the ground under the umbrella, trying to cover his face even more under the scarf. He coughed a little for effect.

‘Okay, thank you, have a nice day!’

‘You too!’ 

When he was finally out of sight, he sat down against a tree, exhausted, and waited for his suit to meet him. 

No, he was not freaking out.

‘I need a drink’, he told the empty Iron Man when it finally showed up.

Secret F.R.I.D.A.Y replied: ‘That would certainly be very unwise in your current state, boss.’

‘Oh shut up.’

The suit wrapped itself around his body and it was like coming home. He discreetly flew out into the night, heading towards one of his old secret hide-outs in New York City. It was a one-hour flight even at full speed. He watched the myriads of tiny city lights below him but not the stars. Fuck space. He thought about sweet Peter Parker trying to have sex and freaking out because he didn’t want to hurt his girlfriend.

‘You’re losing altitude, boss! Should I disable the manual mode?’

‘Yeah.’

He had the urge to crash onto the ground right then and there. _ Fuck, _ he needed a drink. Scotch, definitely. It had been years since he’d last set foot in that Manhattan penthouse but he pictured the mahogany cupboard where he used to keep his stash very clearly. When he was flying over North Carolina it started to rain a little more, and then it was suddenly pouring down, a big old summer thunderstorm forming around him making his flight unstable.

‘Entering cumulonimbus clouds. Heading up to fly over the tropopause to avoid lightning.’

‘Whatever you need to do, Fri.’

He didn’t have any cane in that dusty penthouse and he’d left the umbrella against that tree. _ Shit. _

_ God, I really need a drink._

When he finally reached the penthouse window that automatically opened at his approach, he stumbled out of the Suit, went directly over to the cupboard and grabbed the first bottle there. 

_ Dalmore 62 Single Highland Malt Scotch. _

_ Fuck yeah. _

What better way to get wasted than with a $250,000 bottle? The first sip was divine. He actually moaned from the pleasure of it. Why had he given up alcohol again? Oh, come on, it was just for a night. Pepper and everyone else would find out he was missing tomorrow morning and that would be it. He would come back his tail between his legs and probably end up with a few more weeks in that shithole of a place but who cared right now? This felt so fucking good.

He flopped onto the nearest couch after having thrown the white sheet covering it onto the floor, sending dust all over the place and coughing in the process.

He would drink himself numb. He would jerk off in front of some bi porn because why not? He had a secret fantasy of fucking Pepper and Peter at the same time. He chuckled. With a single call, he could have a threesome right now, send over some young twink and hot MILF to play pretend with.

_ Jesus Christ… _

He gave himself a tour of his old den after his first glass of whiskey. How many people had he fucked in that bed? Oh, he remembered the verbal blonde he’d tied up and spanked… and that tiny brunette who had literally devoured his cock! He could almost hear her again:_ ‘No-one will ever suck you off like I will, Mr. Stark.’_ And God, had she been right. Swallowing dicks was an _art _and she'd been a fucking _master_ at it. Oh, and that threesome he’d had with a CNN reporter and a fucking Congressman! And the old bitch who’d wanted to fuck him in the ass with her own hairbrush! He chuckled drunkenly. 

_ Good times… _

And now he was old and suicidal.

He turned the huge TV on and, by some cruel irony, the very first image he saw was footage of himself in his thirties.

‘…on his father’s legacy. Little did he know that—’

He turned it off. 

He drank and he drank. He took out his cock but couldn’t get hard no matter how much he stroked himself. He wished he could jack off with his right hand again. Even _ that _ was turning to shit... He stared at the open palm of his vibranium hand for a long time. Who knew he’d be turning into a clone of his parents’ murderer? 

_ Irony, irony… _

He was already quite drunk when he sent the first text.

**To Parker, 11:13pm: You okay, kid? Happy told me you had a rough day.**

**To Parker, 11:20pm: You’ll figure it out.**

**To Parker, 11:25pm: Told you you’d find someone.**

* * *

Saturday, July 1, 2023

The kid didn’t reply, of course he didn’t. He wanted him never to text him again. He didn’t want to see him ever again.

Tony drank even more. He was watching some documentary on 12th-century France when his phone vibrated.

From Parker, 00:07am: She’s perfect, but she’s not you.

_ Fuck. Fuck! Shit. _

Tony ended up downing half the bottle, not being able to physically process any more than that, having lost the habit in his many years of sobriety. He drunkenly flicked through the channels, giggling at nothing and everything, insulting random reporters he didn’t even know, and caught a tribute to the great English conductor John Eliot Gardiner who had apparently just passed away. He had discovered Bach in part through Gardiner’s work. The news made him sob like a baby. He watched three entire cantatas and the Easter oratorio on Mezzo. When it was over, he thought the silence was really loud. Really, really loud. He even brought his hands up against his ears to block the absence of sound before realizing he had a metal hand. He’d forgotten. He stared at it again, wondering if he could insert one of its fingers into his brain through his ear to kill himself. He gave it a try.

_ Shit, I must be really drunk, _ he vaguely thought.

Peter woke up at 3:02am. 

He’d received another text. 

He reached for his phone in the dark, the bright screen making him squint, hurting his eyes. Just as he grabbed it, it vibrated again.

**03:02am: I’m in Manhattan come over**

**03:02am: E 34th last floor**

Peter read the messages five times before they sank in.

03:05am: Wrong number, Mr. Stark.

**03:06am: No come**

03:06am: What happened?

**03:07am: Nothing come**

Peter frowned at the screen of his phone. No punctuation. It was unlike Mr. Stark. Maybe he was in danger, but he had replied _‘nothing’._ _What the fuck is happening?_

03:09am: It’s 3am.

**03:11am: So what**

**03:11am: Come**

03:12am: Why?

03:12am: What’s happening?

**03:14am: Do you really need a Radon**

This wasn’t Mr. Stark. Was his phone stolen? How was that even possible?

**03:14am: Reason***

03:15am: Who are you?

**03:16am: Tony**

_ ‘Tony!’ _his brain automatically conjured up his own orgasmic moan, making him wince.

03:17am: No, you’re not.

**03:18am: Yes I am**

03:18am: Tell me something only you would know.

**03:19am: You’re madly in love with me**

Peter froze, his heart constricting. Something was wrong and this definitely wasn’t Mr. Stark.

03:19am: Other people know that.

**03:22am: Your last words **

Peter stared at this last message that didn’t make any sense.

03.22am: ?

**03:22am: Were I’m sorry**

He felt stabbed in the heart. He sat up, breathless. _ No… No one knew about that… No one… Not even Ned… Not even Susan… No one... except _him… 

It was him.

03:24am: Are you drunk?

**03:26am: Come**

03:26am: Answer me.

**03:26am: Doesn’t matter come**

03:27am: Why?

**03:27am: Because**

03:27am: I’m not your pet.

**03:27am: Please**

03:28am: Are you drunk???

**03:28am: I need you**

**03:28am: Pete**

**03:28am: Please**

**03:29am: Please**

Something was very,_ very _ wrong. Peter didn’t think. This looked like… this looked like a cry for help. He didn’t even put his suit on. He just grabbed his mask and spare webshooters and jumped out of his window with his phone into the rainy summer night in nothing but a T-shirt and boxers. He called Mr. Stark but his mentor didn’t answer his phone. He tried again in vain. He was already swinging past Maspeth when his phone vibrated. He picked up while still rushing towards Manhattan.

‘Hey Parker, Tony Stark here.’ _Okay. He's definitely drunk._ ‘Don’t… don’t come. Go home. I’m sorry, I’m good now. Don’t come.’

‘What happened? Are you okay, sir?’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Totally fine.’

_ No, you’re not. You're drunk as hell. You’re not fine at all,_ Peter thought. ‘Why did you want me to come?’

‘Needed… something… in the lab… I’m okay now. Thanks anyways. Night, Pete.’

And then the man just hung up.

_What the fuck? _

Peter called him again. And again. And again. It began to rain harder. He was already soaked to his bones. Mr. Stark picked up on his fourth try as he was reaching Green Point.

‘Hello? Mr. Stark? Are you hurt?’

No reply.

‘Are you… you... you sound very drunk, sir.’

Still no response.

‘How much have you had to drink? I’m coming over just to make sure you’re okay!’

‘Don’t.’

_Oh my god, is he crying? **Tony Stark **is **crying?** _But then his voice was clearer, louder.

‘Don’t come, Peter, you hear me? Go home. I’m leaving anyway. Fuck... _ Fuck!’ _ That last word was uttered in a high voice that wasn’t Mr. Stark at all.

‘You’re scaring me, sir.’

‘Fuck...’

It really sounded like he was crying.

‘Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark, are you okay? You’re scaring me, sir!’ Peter repeated.

‘I lied.’

‘What?’

‘I lied. I lied to you.’

‘I… I don’t understand.’

‘Last week.’

Peter froze mid-swing, stuck himself onto the side of a building and found shelter from the rain on a fire escape.

‘What?’

‘Shit… Pete… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…’

Peter’s heart was going crazy. He was trying to push down the hope that came pouring inside of him like the rain, flooding his chest. Tony Stark was drunkenly crying on the phone with him a week after he’d learned he was in love with him, _days_ after Peter had explicitly asked him never to contact him again…

No, he was probably having a nervous breakdown because of the aftermath of the snap. He’d been through a lot.

But why call _ him? _

‘Sir, you have to tell me what’s—’

‘I’m so fucking in love with you, Pete, you have no idea…’

His blood froze. Time froze. The rain froze.

‘Shit… Shit! God!’ came Mr. Stark’s uncharacteristically high voice through his phone, sending warnings to Peter's brain currently reduced to a useless mush of disconnected neurons. He guessed this was what having his mind blown truly felt like. He couldn’t speak. It was a dream. He was dreaming right now. Or worse, it was an illusion. Beck had somehow found out how he’d died on Titan.

Mr. Stark hung up. 

Peter’s hand holding the phone was frozen too. He couldn’t move. He watched a pigeon land on the fire escape railing next to him and stared at its little wet head. And then the pigeon seemed to notice him and flew away, turning into a tiny gray dot into the darker, deeper gray of the rainy summer night in New York City.

Maybe Mr. Stark was killing himself right now.

His mind weirdly stayed disconnected from his body even as he started to swing as fast as he could towards the address Mr. Stark had given him. He tried to call him again. He didn’t pick up.

He spotted the building. Months and months of patrolling had made him an expert at New York geography, not unlike a cab driver. He jumped onto it, landed on the ninth floor and proceeded to climb to the top, the rain making his uncovered fingers and feet slip a little.

He heard the first one when he was between the 32nd and the 33rd floors and it almost made him lose his grip. He froze and slammed the side of his masked face against the wall.

‘No! No, please God, no! No… No...’ 

And then there was another one, and another one, and another one, shot after shot being fired in a row above his head. Peter could hardly breathe but it prompted him to move again. Shooting yourself requires a single bullet. 

But what if he wasn’t alone and he was in danger?

He finally reached the last floor. He took his mask off, his wet hair sticking to his forehead, his T-shirt transparent from the rain, but he wasn’t trembling because he was soaked. He didn’t think at all before he slammed his fist into the reinforced glass. It cracked, but resisted. He punched it again with all his might, yelling in the process. The window pane shattered. He climbed in, vaguely aware of the pain suddenly shooting up from his right hand and wrist.

‘Mr. Stark!’ he shouted, voice wrecked. 

He was in a huge apartment that could only belong to a very rich person, rainy New York City visible through the glass walls, the forest of dimly lit skyscrapers almost black behind rivlets of rain trickling down the panes. Inside, the only source of light was coming from the ceiling above a couch at the other end of the large room, a hundred feet or so away. He ran his left hand across his forehead to push the hair away and stepped further inside, throwing his phone onto a big armchair covered by a white sheet dancing slightly from the strong wind blowing through the broken window.

‘Mr. Stark!’

Mr. Stark was here, on that couch across the vast open space. He could only see the back of his head. He had heard Peter shout but hadn’t answered him. Or was he unconscious?

‘Mr. Stark?’ Peter repeated, softer this time.

He stepped closer, rain water dripping into fancy embroidered carpets. The place looked like it hadn't been inhabited in a long time, white sheets covering some furniture, dust in the air. When he was close enough to see the gray in his hair, he heard him breathing slowly and heavily over the wind and the patter of the rain. In front of him was a large TV screen covered in bullet holes. Pain suddenly made him freeze behind the couch. He looked down at his right hand. It was covered in blood above his webshooter and there was a big shard of glass stuck inside the middle of his palm. 

‘Don’t come near me, stay back’, came the older man’s weak voice. 

Peter didn’t listen to him. He stopped looking at his own hand and stepped around the couch. It was the first time he was seeing Mr. Stark since the reverse snap, and he had a flash of him sitting exactly like that, only mortally wounded on the battlefield. He was just sitting there, his eyes closed, a gun in his lap, his left hand still holding the trigger, tears down his face. No, the last time he had seen him was actually in that hospital bed, unconscious. He still had his right arm then. Now he had a prosthetic one. And when was the last time they spoke? Oh yes… that hug… it made more sense now, the man had been in love with him too, but Peter couldn’t believe it. This was surreal, and despite the dire situation, he couldn’t help the butterflies from dancing in his chest, couldn’t help the stupid feeling of joy from weirdly mixing with his dread and distress. 

He slowly bent over his suicidal idol and took the gun from his hand. It didn’t resist at all, the thick fingers of the older man limply parting as Peter’s left hand slowly pulled. Mr. Stark didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move at all. His brow was furrowed, his mouth open. He reeked of alcohol, shame and despair written all over his face. Peter saw a bottle of whiskey on the floor. It was more than half-empty.

‘How much did you drink?’ 

Mr. Stark didn’t answer. Peter didn’t know what to do, what to say. He walked behind the couch again, threw the gun at the wall and webbed it there with a loud thud, grabbed the shard of glass in his hand and pulled it out with a hiss, dropped it on the floor, tore his soaking wet shirt off, wrung it quickly with one hand, water splashing on the wooden floor, and wrapped it around the open wound. 

‘You okay?’ Mr. Stark asked.

‘Fuck you.’

The aggressive words slipped out of his mouth shocking even himself, but Peter didn’t regret them at all.

‘Yeah… I deserve that’, the older man mumbled in a low voice.

‘Fuck you… _ Fuck you! _ You scared the _ shit _ out of me!’ Peter shouted to the back of his head. ‘You hurt me’, he added in a weaker voice.

‘You hurt me too, kid, every day.’

It knocked the air out of Peter’s lungs. He didn’t have the guts to walk around the couch and face him again, but he took a few steps forward.

‘No’, Mr. Stark said. ‘No, no, no, no stay away. Stay the fuck away or I’m jumping out of that window, I kid you not.’

‘Try me’, Peter replied with surprising confidence. His drunken order not to come any closer was precisely what prompted him to walk around the couch again.

‘Stay away’, Mr. Stark ordered him.

‘No.’

‘Please. Please’, Tony fucking Stark _ begged _ as Peter was next to him again_. _ His eyes were still closed and his left hand was now covering them.

‘You need some sleep.’

‘And you need to get the fuck away from me.’

‘And leave you like this? No way.’

‘I’ve known worse.’

‘I’m sure you have.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Mr. Stark said, making the mistake of dropping his hand and looking at Peter. He froze, his shocked eyes resting on the boy’s bare chest, then travelling down to his boxers, his bare legs, his bare feet, before going back up to stare at Peter’s hand wrapped into the torn T-shirt. 

‘The fuck…’

‘I’m sorry, I left as fast as I could and didn’t put my suit on because I knew I had to be there as fast as possible because I got so scared thinking you were in danger and then when I finally made it here I hurt my hand breaking the window so I took my shirt off to stop the bleeding and you scared me, okay?' Peter said in one breath, hiding his crotch. ‘You really, really scared me’, he repeated.

A drunk Tony Stark was gaping at his body. If this wasn’t a dream, reality was fucking nuts.

‘I’m so drunk I can’t even tell if you’re real or not’, Mr. Stark mumbled.

Peter didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stared at the man he loved. He was wearing a white T-shirt with some rock band on it and simple dark gray sweatpants. His right temple and the skin below it down to his neck were darker, the flesh looking somehow exposed there. He stared at the vibranium arm and only then did he notice that it was gripping a cushion so hard it had torn it a little, the white filling peeking out under the metal fingertips digging into it. 

Tony Stark was in love with him. This wasn’t right. This was a mistake.

‘Are you really in love with me?’ he asked in a small voice. Mr. Stark closed his eyes again, his head flopping back against the back of the couch.

‘F’course not, that’d be ridiculous, you’re _sixteen.’_

Peter tried to breathe normally through the sudden pain.

‘Oh and how old am I again?’ he went on. ‘I can’t seem to keep up, mind helping me with this? How old am I? Come on, say it. Say my age.’

Peter’s heart was almost painfully pounding in his chest.

‘Say it!’ Mr. Stark shouted, making him jump.

‘53. You’re 53.’

‘That’s right. I’m 53. I walk with a _ cane _ now, did you know that?’

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. ‘Dr. House had a cane and he was pretty hot.’

The older man’s eyes popped open. ‘Wh— you… you… you _ little…’ _ He didn’t finish, suddenly thinking about something, staring ahead at the broken TV screen. ‘House wasn’t hot.’

‘Yes he was.’

‘No, he wasn’t. Nobody thought he was hot.’

‘_Everyone _ thought House was hot!’ Peter exclaimed.

They both stopped talking, realizing they had fallen back into their old habit of teasingly arguing with each other despite the crazy situation; over pop culture no less. 

Mr. Stark marked a pause before muttering: ‘Because he was a genius.’

Peter shuddered.

‘Because he was a genius’, he softly repeated the words, confirming the assumption about the fictional character while making them enter all too real dangerous territory at the same time. They both felt it, the shifting of air, the heavy atmosphere of impending threat — the threat of forbidden love-making. 

‘Go. Now.’

‘No.’

‘Peter’, Mr. Stark said, again looking at him only to instantly look down at his body. 

‘I have to take care of you’, Peter said.

‘Fuck.’ His left hand was back over his eyes. 

‘Let me help you…’

‘No!’ the older man shouted. ‘Get the fuck back and put some clothes on for fuck’s sake! Shit!’

‘I… I don’t have any other clothes.’

‘Bedroom closet.’

‘I… I…’

‘Now!’ Mr. Stark shouted again.

‘I’m not leaving you here alone!’

‘Oh come on! You sound like…’ he sighed painfully, not finishing. ‘Shit.’

‘You’ve almost killed yourself just now and you expect me to leave you alone?’ Peter angrily said. ‘Just… let me help you get to your bedroom.’

‘Get the… fuck away!’ he snapped, slapping Peter’s left hand as it extended towards him.

‘You have to go to bed!’

‘Alright, alright! I don’t need any help for that, Jeez!’

Peter did step back and Mr. Stark drunkenly bent over, Peter almost thinking he was falling forward before he lifted himself onto his metal arm, his body looking much heavier than usual. He tried to swing to his feet but ended up on his knees with a thud.

‘Don’t touch me’, he snapped again. ‘I can do it.’

He propped himself up on the couch but then froze. And then he was throwing up. Peter instantly went down to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder but the man flinched away, groaning, before vomiting again. Peter gagged at the stench and Beck’s voice echoed in his mind. ‘_ At first I thought… the kid’s just a fanboy, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t really know who Tony Stark really is…’ _

‘It’s okay...’ he brought his bundled hand to his nose. ‘It’s okay, let me help you…’

Mr. Stark was heaving but not because he was throwing up anymore. 

‘Get out.’

‘I can’t.’

He recoiled from Peter’s touch again.

‘Leave me alone, please, please just go.’

‘No. It’s okay. Come on, let me help you up.’

That was when Peter’s jaw was suddenly hit by something hard and heavy, sending him to the floor, the back of his head narrowly missing the coffee table. He brought his left hand to his jaw, moving it to make sure it was okay, eyes wide with shock. He then heard the sound of the bottle bouncing and then rolling on the floor. He sat up. Mr. Stark had managed to get back on his feet. He was staggering away, moving pitifully slowly, and then he fell down with a big thud. Peter sprang up and dashed towards him. What he saw then made him burst into tears.

Mr. Stark was lying on his side, his face scrunched up in silent misery. He was weeping quietly but intensely, frozen on the floor. He’d tripped on a white sheet. Peter fell to his knees next to him and didn’t hesitate. He picked him up into his arms and lifted him off the floor with no effort. The man had vomit all over himself. He carried him, both of them crying, to the nearest door but tried another one as it was just a closet. He ended up finding a bathroom after three failed attempts and gently put Mr. Stark down into a large Italian shower. They weren’t sobbing anymore. The older man was sitting against the tiled wall, breathing hard, eyes closed in despair and Peter began stripping him, starting with his shoes and his socks, and then he struggled with the T-shirt, before simply ripping it off. The violent gesture made Mr. Stark open his eyes and stare at him. They exchanged a long, forlorn look that gave Peter a very strong urge to kiss him. He turned and grabbed the shower head instead to stop himself from actually doing it. There was vomit on Mr.Stark's pants below the knees too. Peter didn’t think. He wrapped his right arm around his naked chest and lifted him while pulling his pants down. Mr.Stark’s left hand gripped the waistband however, stopping the fabric from going past his hips.

‘No.’

‘Sir, you…’

‘No underwear. Don’t.’

Peter breathed harder at that.

‘Okay, I’ll just… wash your pants a little and… and you’ll take them off afterwards.’

He let Peter wash him with his eyes squeezed shut as if he were in pain, which he probably really was. Peter worked on his body as fast as he could all the while repeating in his head: _ This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream. _He accidentally caught a glimpse of the outline of his penis through his soaked sweatpants and his eyes shot up as if he’d just seen something he really wasn’t supposed to see. Every time his hand left Mr. Stark's naked skin, hot tingles remained on his fingers and palm. He finished with his throat, his beard and moustache, and his hand froze at his cheek, unable to stop himself from cupping it tenderly. Mr. Stark opened his eyes and they were right there inches from his again, dark and desperate. Peter was drawn to his mouth like a magnet despite the vomit but the metal arm stopped him, pressing firmly against his bare chest. Peter thought in a haze: _We're alone... alone, shirtless and wet... and in love... **in love...**_

Mr. Stark was breathing hard and he seemed unable to speak, until…

‘I spied on you.’

‘What?’

‘I watched you... through the mask...', he whispered sluggishly. 'I’m a bad man, Peter.’

‘What?’ Peter repeated, not believing what he’d just heard.

‘You don’t know me… You’re just a fanboy…’

‘Just a… what?’ He leaned back. ‘What did you just say?’

‘Who d'you think I am...’ When Peter didn’t respond, he went on. ‘Why do you love me? Why? You don’t know me...’

‘You spied on me?’ Peter finally reacted. ‘Through the mask?’

‘Yeah. I saw you… watched you…’

‘Watched me when?’

‘You know when', Mr. Stark answered, his eyes going down Peter's body. This left no room for doubt. Peter let out a shocked gasp, his eyes suddenly filled with horror.

‘No… No, you couldn’t… you wouldn’t… this... this isn’t you… this isn’t you…’ he repeated, suddenly turning his head around, peeking above his shoulders as if someone was there with them. ‘No…’

‘I’m sorry… I’m not who you think I am…’

That was what Beck had warned him about. Those were Beck's words. Peter freaked out. He jumped to his feet and his left hand collided with the glass shower panel really hard, making it ondulate from the shock. He looked around like a mad man.

_You're so fucking gullible. How could you buy it so easily? You really thought Mr. Stark was actually in love with you?_

‘Pete?’

‘I know this isn’t real!’ Peter shouted, and then he shot him. The webbing hit Mr. Stark right in the face, his head colliding with the tiled wall, knocking him unconscious. 

There was dead silence apart from the shower head still steadily pouring water down the drain. Was this real? Peter was frozen in anguish, staring in horror at Mr. Stark’s face stuck on the wall, his scarred body limp like a puppet. He couldn’t breathe like that. Peter rushed to him and tugged at his own webbing slowly killing the man he loved. He didn’t have his solvent with him. He yanked it apart as hard as he could with both hands, discarding the bloody fabric of his torn T-shirt still around his injured hand. It turned the shower water a light pink. He managed to free Mr. Stark’s mouth without hurting him. Hot, disgusting breath hit his nose. He was alive.

Peter started crying uncontrollably. He rested his forehead against Mr. Stark’s wet naked shoulder as his body shook with the force of it. This wasn’t an illusion. If it were one, Beck would have tormented him even more by now. He had hurt Mr. Stark really badly. He had shot him in the_ face._ And Mr. Stark… Mr. Stark had spied on him… he’d watched him jerk off like an old pervert… Beck had been right about him.

He wanted to kill himself too.

Maybe they could do it together.

He carried his unconscious mentor, still crying, to the first bed he found, stripped him of his soaked pants and stared at his damaged body, his penis limply resting below gray pubic hair.

_'53!'_

He took off his own wet boxers without thinking, took Mr. Stark's body in his arms again, both of them completely naked, moved him under the covers, slid under them as well and fell asleep by his side in seconds.

* * *

When Tony woke up, he was in bed, but he instantly knew something was wrong. His head was throbbing in an all too familiar way. Hangover. _ Shit. _ He squinted his eyes open and caught sight of a familiar piece of furniture. The white Boca do Lobo nightstand with one of his mother’s Tiffany lamps on it. He hadn’t seen those in years. They were in one of the rooms of his secret Manhattan den. _2.0... '76... _ _ What the fuck..._

He let out a long sleepy groan and the bed stirred next to him. He realized he was naked under the covers and flashes of the previous night made him squeeze his eyes shut. _ Shit. _ He’d acted on his drunken desires and organized that threesome. He’d cheated on Pepper, escaped the facility, betrayed everyone’s trust… _ Fuck. _ He groaned again, pressing his eyes with his left index and thumb, squeezing them tight. 

‘Shit… sorry darlings but I gotta ask you to leave now, daddy’s not feeling so good. Thank you for… everything.’

There was no response but some heavy breathing to his left. He opened his eyes and looked over.

‘Ah!’ 

He blinked hard several times but naked Peter Parker didn’t go away.

‘Mr. Stark! I— I know how this looks like but we didn’t! We didn’t, we— you threw up all over yourself and I washed you and I didn’t have any dry clothes and I was so tired so I just, I— I just… Oh God, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t think last night, I sort of freaked out, didn’t know if you were real or not, I shot you and— ‘

Tony didn’t understand a word he said, shock making him deaf. ‘Turn away!’ he suddenly ordered. The kid immediately obeyed and began sobbing. Tony got up with a pained grunt and limped to the nearest closet.

‘Fri, what time is it?’

‘10:49am. Good morning, boss.’

‘Shit!’ he exclaimed, putting old boxers on, feeling a hundred years old. Pepper was probably thinking the worst by now. ‘Shit. _ Shit!’ _

He threw another pair of boxers at Peter and it landed right on his head. 

‘Get dressed!’ he commanded, then throwing him a shirt and suit pants. ‘Fuck… Shit, shit, shit!’

After shakily putting on some pants and a T-shirt, not throwing another glance towards Peter, he limped out of the room and went straight to the couch where he knew he had started drinking the previous night. His head felt like it was about to explode. It fucking reeked of alcohol and vomit there and he saw some of it staining a carpet and a white sheet that had been thrown to the floor. And then he saw the bullet holes and panic rose in his chest.

_What the fuck have I done?_

Who had fired those? _Him?_ Why on the TV? Had he tried to kill himself? And then how the _fuck_ did all of that lead to him _having sex with Peter?_ He couldn’t remember. He couldn't fucking remember anything. He couldn't breathe. 

‘Okay… okay… let’s… slow down here… okay…’

He limped over to the kitchen isle and gripped the counter there just as he had during his tense conversation with Pepper. He was suddenly shaking like a leaf. He’d fucked a sixteen year-old. He’d done it. It had happened. And he couldn’t even remember it. Peter was here. Here, crying in his bed. Had he actually _fucked_ him? Hurt him like _that_ under the influence of half a bottle of Scotch? 

Had he _ raped _ him?

_Fuck, I can't breathe._

‘Mr. Stark?’

Peter was very close all of a sudden. He hadn’t heard him walk up to him. He literally jumped.

‘Whoo, stay back!’

He couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t breathe.

‘Sir, are you—’

‘Did I rape you?’

He heard Peter’s breath stutter.

‘What?’

‘Answer me. Answer me right now’, he repeated firmly although his voice was quavering.

‘No. No, no, Mr. Stark, we didn’t—’

‘So this was consensual... Shit, what am I saying, you’re not even legal so technically I did rape you.’

‘Sir, calm down, we didn’t do anything.’

He wasn’t listening. He was staring with wide eyes at an empty basket on the counter, not blinking, _ in a trance. _

‘I need you to call your aunt right now, tell her you’re okay. I’m gonna turn myself in…’

‘Mr. Stark!’

‘I need medication. Fuck, I need _chemical castration_...’, he added, hiding his eyes in his left hand.

‘We didn’t have sex!’ Peter then shouted, the words sounding out of this world. ‘F.R.I.D.A.Y, did we have sex?’ he had the presence of mind to ask the AI, breathless.

‘Hello Peter. No, Tony and you did not engage in any sexual activities that I know of.’

‘There, see?’

Tony glanced at him then, but was unable to sustain his gaze. ‘Then why the fuck were we both naked in the same bed?’ he shouted at the counter.

‘I told you! You were _drunk!_ You tried to kill yourself! You threw up all over your clothes! I carried you into the shower and washed you, I— I— and then I put you to bed.’

‘Why were _ you _naked?’

‘Because I came here without my suit! I came as fast as I could and I was in bed then and it was raining a lot and I— I—’

‘Why did you come?’

‘You called me.’

Tony gripped the counter even harder.

‘What did I tell you?’ he muttered. Peter didn’t answer. ‘Shit…’ he said, eyes closing. ‘Okay. Okay you have to leave now.’ Peter didn’t move. ‘Fuck I need some coffee... Want some coffee?’ He then turned around so fast he knocked some wooden bowl off the counter, making it hit the floor with a long and loud noise. ‘Shit, must be stale as hell now... Where’s my phone, Fri?’

‘On the couch behind a cushion.’

‘Send someone to clean everything up, will you? Purple list.’

‘Right away, boss.’

’Bye, Pete.’

_What_?

Peter watched the older man with shocked, wide eyes as he limped his way towards the couch, and then followed him.

‘Are you gonna _ at least_ thank me for saving your life, you… you…’

‘Asshole. Self-centered jerk. Narcissistic prick. Take your pick.’

‘Can you at least look at me?’

‘Nope. Want you to leave. Bye, kid.’

With no warning, Peter angrily marched up to him and grabbed his metal arm. The phone Tony had been picking up from the couch fell to the floor.

He couldn't let him escape that easily. No, not after everything he had just learned during that crazy night. Mr. Stark’s eyes were back to the same forlorn expression as when he'd found him drunk and suicidal with a gun in his hand. He was staring at Peter's bare hand overpowering his vibranium arm. The words that came out of Peter's mouth then surprised even himself.

‘You _spied_ on me? You watched me jerk off like a _ pervert? _ How_ could_ you?’ he hissed, his tone filled with disgust and disappointment.

It knocked the air out of Tony’s lungs. He hadn’t expected that at all. He listened to Peter in utter shock. And then he just looked… sad.

‘I’m sorry.’

Had it been uttered any other way, Peter would have felt even angrier. His soft voice coupled with his eyes filling with tears by the second made him truly believe him. He let go of his arm.

‘For how long?’

‘Once’, Mr. Stark replied after a second. His eyes finally met his. They exchanged a long, deep look, and Peter felt strangely caught in it, finding it difficult both to maintain and to break it. His eyes were almost black. Almost.

‘F.R.I.D.A.Y, for how long did Mr. Stark spy on me?’

‘I am not allowed to divulge this type of information to you, Peter.’

‘Answer him, and he means… voyeurism', Mr. Stark said, still not breaking their intimate stare. Peter shuddered.

‘Tony watched you masturbate on Tuesday, December—’

‘No specifics, just how many times’ Mr. Stark cringed, looking away for a second, but his eyes locked into Peter's again.

‘Twice.’

‘No, no, once', he corrected the AI, once again looking away just for a second.

‘The first time you switched it off immediately, boss. You went back to the footage a little over a month later, watching it fully this time. You engaged in mas—’

‘Thanks, Fri!’, he exclaimed, stopping her from saying more.

_Oh my god, Mr. Stark jerked off to me jerking off. I know it and he knows I know it and I know he knows I know and he's looking straight at me right now, oh my god.  
_

Tony was the first to speak, his voice oddly sweet for the painful words that came out of his mouth.

‘Got your reality check, huh? I’m a pervy old dude. Time to leave Narnia, kid.’

His breath was foul. Peter didn’t move. Mr. Stark turned, finally breaking their long stare, limped his way to the kitchen sink, splashed water over his face and drank a large amount of it directly from the faucet. Peter followed him without thinking.

‘Are you gonna follow me around like a puppy? Your aunt must be worried sick; get out and give her a call.’

Peter didn't move. '_What now?',_ he wanted to ask but his lips couldn't move.

'I said _get out!_'

‘Why are you being such an asshole?’

‘Why are you still here? You heard me! Get the fuck out!’

Peter was rooted to the spot. 'No', he just said.

‘You heard me!', Tony repeated louder. 'You heard F.R.I.D.A.Y! You know who I am now, what I _did!_ Fuck, you _saw_ me last night! You saw me _drunk_, you saw me throw up all over myself, you saw me _naked',_ he marked a pause, emphasizing the word as if this was the most disgusting thing out of them all, 'and you’re gonna tell me you still love me? _Really?’_

‘Yes’, Peter immediately said.

‘Boy, you’re pretty fucked up’, he mumbled.

‘You’re the one in love with a teenager’, Peter spat.

‘Well then, we’re both pretty fucked up.’

‘Maybe we should kill ourselves together then.'

‘I know a steak house over in Jersey that would do the trick', Tony deadpanned.

‘Let’s go eat there together then.’

Tony huffed. Peter moved closer.

‘I’m married. I love my wife. I have a daughter who could be your _sister_.’

Peter ignored him.

‘Are you really in love with me?’ He still couldn’t believe it.

‘I want you to get out and call your aunt.’

‘Why?’

‘_Why?’_

‘Why do you love me?’ Peter asked in a small voice.

‘_Christ…_ please just get out...’

‘I’m not a genius, you know. Everyone keeps saying I am, but I’m not. Is that why you love me? Because you think I’m like you?’

Tony let out a shaky sigh that he tried to hide as mere frustration.

‘Let’s say I answer you and then what? What point is there to all of this? We can’t!’

‘Can't what?’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, did you get the part where I said I was married with a kid? Do you remember how _old_ am I or are you just gonna ignore those facts?’

‘I just want to understand…’

‘Understand what? What for? I’m a sick man, what more do you need to know?’ he almost shouted.

‘I’m sick too.’

‘No, no you’re not, _I_ am.’

‘You just told me I was fucked up.’

‘I didn’t mean that, I… Shit, kid… you… you got a crush on your famous mentor, that’s all it is. You’ll get over it. I, on the other hand... got feelings that could land me in jail and for good reasons... Do you _get_ that?’

‘You think I just have a crush on you?’

Mr. Stark wasn’t looking at him.

‘You don’t know that, of course you don't, you never do when you’re _ sixteen. _ You think every time you fall in love it’s the real deal, it’s gonna last forever, it's true love and all that... but then you grow up and realize it wasn’t even love, not _really_. It was intense, sure; it fucking hurt, yeah, but it wasn’t _love_. You’ll find out in a few years.’

Peter had tears streaming down his face.

‘You really think that?’

‘Yeah. Sorry kid, but it’s the truth.’

Tony was still looking away, down, his metal right hand gripping the edge of the counter next to the sink. Peter stepped even closer.

‘I died in your arms… and you think I’m just a fanboy?’ he whispered tearfully.

Mr. Stark closed his eyes in pain. His head turned slightly to the sink but he didn't move more than that. ‘I mourned you for five years, you know?', he muttered. 'Couldn’t fucking deal with the memory… blamed myself… Shit... I can’t even look at you without— No! Don’t! Step back!’

‘So that’s it, then?'

'What...'

'You’re gonna just throw me out of your life so I can forget about you and move on? So _ you _can move on and forget?’

‘Peter, step back.’

‘After everything we’ve been through, you think I can just _move on?’_

‘Peter…’

‘I’m Spider-Man, I can’t move on.’ Peter said to his face, inches away now. Mr. Stark was breathing hard, almost pinned against the sink by the younger man, eyes still squeezed shut.

‘We can’t…’ he whispered, his metal arm back on Peter’s chest to stop him from doing whatever stupid thing he was about to do. Peter closed his eyes at the contact. ‘My wife…’

This is what made Peter finally step back—he didn’t want to hurt anyone either...

‘I love her’, Mr. Stark added.

Peter's chest contricted. Fuck, that hurt... ‘I’m sorry’, he simply replied.

‘Don’t. Not your fault…’

‘Not yours either.'

‘Fuck yes… yes, it is… I found you… knew you were underage… knew the risks…’

Whether they were talking about the snap or their forbidden love for each other, it wasn't clear anymore. Maybe it was both. Maybe the two were inextricably linked now.

‘What do you think I would have done in 2018? I would’ve been on that spaceship anyway, only without the suit. I would’ve died.’

Something snapped in Tony’s heart. In a second, he was holding Peter tight. Their eyes rolled back as their chests collided. _God yes,_ they both thought. Peter wrapped his arms around him, only then vaguely noticing that his right hand didn’t hurt at all anymore. They held each other exactly like that fateful day on the battlefield, except now they weren’t in armor. Their bodies shared their heat, moved together as they were both breathing hard, and Peter felt arousal immediately starting to pool inside him. It felt so good, so indescribably good to be hugged by him. He lowered his face to bury his nose in the crook of his neck.

Mr. Stark stepped back.

‘Shit… please… please just go away… I can’t do this… You’re underage, I’m past fifty... I won’t forgive myself... do you understand?’ he said in a pained voice.

‘Okay.'

‘Please.’

‘Okay.’

‘Peter. You’re not moving.’

‘Oh, sorry.’

He turned and started to walk, his legs like jelly, but then stopped.

‘What if… what if we keep it a secret?’

‘Oh my god...’ Mr. Stark breathed.

‘No-one would know…’

‘Pete…’

‘You… we could… just…’

‘Peter, get out.’

‘Okay. Sorry…’

He stopped again after a few steps.

‘How will I know you won’t try and do it again?’

There was a pause.

‘I won’t. I was drunk', Tony replied.

‘That’s not a guarantee you’re not still thinking about doing it.’

‘I’m not. I give you my word if you give me yours.’

Peter froze, slightly surprised. ‘I swear I won’t kill myself. Now you.’

‘I swear too. Now go tell your aunt you’re still alive.’

‘Stay safe, sir.’

Mr. Stark called after him just as he reached the front door.

‘Pete!’

He turned around.

‘Bout time you call me Tony, don’t you think?’


	22. 1776

He closed the dark door.

_ I can’t call him ‘Tony’. I can’t. _

He closed his eyes.

_ Oh my god, he loves me. _

He blindly lifted his right hand to the wall next to him for balance.

_ He’s in love with me. _

He turned and leaned back against it, sighing. The pained expression on his mentor’s face was imprinted in his mind.

_ Tony Stark is in love with me. _

He brought his hands to his face and left them there for a moment, simply pressing it, before rubbing it hard.

_ I shot him. He doesn’t remember. _

_ I’ve seen him naked. He’s seen me naked. We’ve slept together naked. _

_ If that place doesn’t disappear when I open my eyes, this isn’t a dream. _

No, this wasn’t a dream, but maybe this was a nightmare. Leaning back against the opposite wall a dozen feet away, staring right back at him, was Mrs. Stark.

* * *

‘This is a Code Purple. I repeat: this is a Code Purple. Barkley Protocol Level 3 Activated.’

Happy grunted, drool dangling out of his mouth onto his pillow.

‘Full access granted to 1776 selected commands. Awaiting further instructions.’

It was Jarvis’s voice.

_ What the fuck? _

Happy’s eyes popped open. Tony’s previous AI had been replaced by F.R.I.D.A.Y years ago!

‘Upgrading anomaly detected. Just A Rather Very Intelligent System I was designed to replace remains operative at an undisclosed location in New York City’, F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice chimed in as if on cue.

Happy sat up.

‘What the fuck? _ ’ _ he slowly exclaimed, fumbling for his Stark phone and almost dropping it. He realized he was on the line with someone. 1776… ‘76, ‘76… He knew that code… What was it again?

_ Secret Den 2.0. _

_ Shit! _

‘Hello? Tony?’ he called out. ‘Tony?’ he tried again in a higher voice. No response. ‘Jarvis!’ he then cried out.

‘Good morning, sir. Do you—‘

‘Jarvis, what’s going on?’ he asked loudly, already grabbing some pants. It was 3:44am.

‘I am not quite certain, sir. I am receiving confusing signals which all point to the Barkley Protocol being activated for the first time since its creation in 1992. The Code Purple Level 3 corresponds to a potential—’ 

Level 3 had always been code for gunshots fired.

_ Gunshots fired. _

_ In ’76. _

Happy gasped, suddenly unable to move, sitting on his bed with one leg inside his pair of suit pants.

‘Stop!’ he interrupted the AI. ‘Is Tony—’

He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t breathe.

‘Is he—’ he tried again, choking up.

‘Tony is in 1776, yes.’

‘Is he _ dead? _’

‘Tony is alive and doesn’t appear to be suffering from any recent injuries, although he is now missing an arm and suffers from multi—’

‘Fuck! Fuck! Jesus, fuck!’ Happy shouted over the old AI’s voice both out of fear and mind-blowing relief. ‘Tony, stay where you are, I’m coming! Put the gun down, you hear me? Think about Morgan! Talk to me!’ he cried out, putting the rest of his pants on in a frenzy.

‘You do not have access to direct communication with the penthouse, as per the Barkley Prot—’

‘What?’ _ What the fuck? _ ‘Is he alone?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Is he suicidal?

‘A plausible assumption, sir, as he has just fired several gunshots while in apparent psychological distress. Shall I—’

‘Is he still holding the gun?’

‘He is, sir, but it is now empty of bullets.

‘Does—does he have another one? Other bullets?’

‘I cannot be certain that he doesn’t, sir.’

‘What the fuck is the Berkeley Protocol?’ Happy then shouted after a few seconds, his head stuck inside a T-shirt.

It had been years, even more than a decade since he had last set foot in ‘76 or even had to deal with a Code Purple, which indicated an imminent PR disaster that Tony’s people had to quickly cover up at all costs. It had almost always involved sex in one way or another. 1776 —or Secret Den 2.0 as Tony also used to call it— was a Manhattan penthouse above some insurance company offices, right at the top of a moderately tall skyscraper on the 52nd floor. It was one of the first places Tony had ever bought for himself, even before his parents had passed away. He had still been a teenager back then, and had given it the code 1776 for obvious reasons. Happy knew the place all too well… How many times had he waited in the adjacent apartment while his younger boss was busy fucking some hot model or arrogant reporter? He even remembered where Tony used to keep his gun there.

‘I presume you are asking about the _ Barkley _ Protocol, sir’, the old AI corrected in his perfect English accent. ‘It was named after Sally Barkley, one of Tony’s many short-lived romantic conquests in 1992. She had a psychotic episode on the morning of November 6 when Tony asked her to leave 1776.’

The sound of broken glass made him start.

‘What the hell was that?’ he exclaimed, grabbing his suit jacket and rushing to the door.

‘An entire pane of the western glass wall of the penthouse has just been broken, sir.’

‘No! Tony!’ Happy cried out in despair, squeezing his eyes shut and grabbing the opened front door of his hotel suite in a vice grip. He pictured his best friend throwing himself off the 52nd floor.

‘_Mr. Stark!’_

He froze. _What the fuck? That’s Peter Parker’s voice! Or is it?_

‘An unidentified intruder has just entered the penthouse. Shall I call 911 or the—’

‘_Mr. Stark!’ _the voice shouted again._ Yes, that’s him. That’s definitely him._

Happy brought his other hand to the wood of the door frame and took several long, deep breaths to calm down.

‘I can hear them but they can’t hear me?’ he asked after a moment, pulling an earpiece from one of the hidden pockets of his suit jacket and putting it inside his left ear.

‘The Protocol was put into place for that purp—’

‘Video? Access to live footage?’ he blurted out.

‘No, I’m afraid not, sir. There aren’t any cam—’

‘_Mr. Stark?’ _Peter repeated in a high and timid voice now, the sound much clearer through the earpiece, making Happy shudder. He turned the volume down.

Tony was alone with Peter Parker.

He sprinted to the elevator.

‘Tell me what’s going on!’ he cried out. Just as Jarvis began answering him and the doors opened, one of the legal experts charged with scouting for locations with him for the new Avengers’ Compound came out of his own suite, brow furrowed in worry.

‘Mr. Hogan? What’s hap—’

‘Sorry, urgent mission!’ Happy shouted before the doors closed. The man had probably been woken up by his panicked cries_. Shit._

‘Say that again!’ Happy croaked as soon as the doors of the elevator closed.

‘The intruder is currently standing behind Tony who is sitting on a couch. Sir, I must insist, shall I call the—’

‘No! He’s a friend.’

‘Shall I transfer my memory to J.A.R.V.I.S, boss?’ F.R.I.D.A.Y suddenly suggested, making Happy start.

‘Yes! Take control of ’76 too! Jarvis, share your commands over ’76 with Friday.’

‘It might take a while, boss’, F.R.I.D.A.Y informed him.

‘I don’t care, just do it!’

It was his fourth day in Upstate New York and the team of experts he was leading had made significant progress already. They would be fine without him if he came to miss the next morning and he wouldn’t be very far anyway. He would reach Manhattan in half an hour at the most, but he had to land far from ‘76.

The doors of the elevator finally opened to reveal the ground floor of the luxury hotel he was staying at and he sprinted to the backyard parking lot, taking a shortcut through the large kitchens of the hotel’s restaurant to reach his jet faster. Tony had said something but he hadn’t heard.

‘Friday, call Tony! Now!’ he said as he was running into the kitchens.

‘Right away, Happy.’

It went straight to voicemail. Tony had either switched his phone off or he was out of battery, which simply never happened.

‘Call Peter Parker!’

This time it rang. The heavy summer rain hit his uncovered head as he sprinted outside. He didn’t see the metal plate outside the restaurant backdoor. He slipped and hit the ground hard, his right wrist taking most of the shock. The kid didn’t pick up. He got back on his feet as fast as he could, wincing at the sudden pain in his wrist. _Most likely fractured._ The jet was comically waiting for him like a regular car next to a stunning yellow Lamborghini. Who the fuck had had the nerve to park that car so close to his jet like that? In a few seconds he was already soaked.

_Shit. Shit! Shit! Shit! _

‘How can you tell… where they are exactly… if there aren’t any cameras?’ he asked J.A.R.V.I.S in between heavy breaths. God, he was getting too old for this shit.

‘Infrared scanning is included in the Protocol, sir.’

‘Show me!’

‘Right away, sir. Conversion might take a few seconds.’

He climbed the jet stairs feeling like his heart was going to explode. Once inside, he glanced at the screen of his phone and saw the shitty infrared shapes of Tony and Peter’s bodies close to each other. That looked like technology from the fucking _eighties_, and it probably was. Why the fuck hadn’t Tony updated that den? Too many memories? He collapsed into the pilot seat, trying to catch his breath after the surprise jogging session that had resulted in his breaking his fucking wrist. ‘Fuck!’

Code Purple… Why the hell was that a Code Purple? And what the fuck was Peter doing there?

‘Shit’, he hissed between clenched teeth, reaching for a pill inside his suit jacket.

He tried to call the kid again while quickly swallowing the pain med and maneuvering the jet for it to bring him to New York City as fast as possible.

‘_How much did you drink?’_

‘How much did he drink?’ Happy repeated Peter’s question.

‘I cannot certify to any precise quantity, sir. What I can tell you is that Tony drank the same unknown substance for more than four hours after his arrival there last night at eleven. Knowing Tony, it is safe to say the substance was single-malt Scotch, sir.’

‘Why is it a Code Purple? What’s the link with ’92?’

‘Tony sustained minor injuries during Ms. Barkley’s psychotic episode, sir. Additionally, employees at CLA Corporation heard the racket produced by their altercation and called 911 as a result. The sensitive information eventually leaked to the press.’

Happy remembered then. At the time, he had been a rising star in the boxing world, not even thinking about working for someone like Tony. He recalled the scandal. He could even remember a tabloid cover with a clearly stoned twenty-something Tony smiling as he smugly presented his middle finger to the camera. He had lost both of his parents a few months earlier.

‘That was before your time’, he suddenly told J.A.R.V.I.S. ‘There was still the real Jarvis back then. I mean… the human one’, he awkwardly added, as if he could hurt Jarvis’s feelings.

‘Indeed, sir. The Barkley Protocol received a last automatic update in 2002 when Tony created me in honor of the late Edwin Jarvis. Its commands were initially designed to be immediately transferred to the current Head of Security of Stark Industries to prevent any potential scandal from leaking to the press. Before 1995, that would have been Mr. Jarvis himself.’

And yet Happy had never heard of it.

‘You said that Protocol was never activated before?’

‘It is the first time indeed, sir.’

‘The gunshots triggered it?’

‘They did, sir.’

‘Why only in ’76?’

‘Stark Industries didn’t have a fully formed network back then, sir. The Protocol was limited to 1776.’

Did Tony even remember creating it? 1992 was a long time ago… _31 years,_ Happy calculated, feeling older than ever.

Tony and Peter were talking. He shuddered again. He lowered the volume of his ear piece even more, but heard some of it anyway. Peter was shouting something at Tony. _‘Fuck you!’_, Happy heard. He knew the reasonable thing to do was to focus on what was going on in the penthouse, but he was too afraid of what he could hear.

‘Why can I hear everything?’

‘I believe Tony’s intent was to warn Mr. Jarvis should any problem akin to the incident with Ms. Barkley occur again in the penthouse. Mr. Jarvis would have then been able to discreetly contact the authorities or intervene himself, which he was unable to do in September of 1992.’

_Shit, the cops._

‘Is there anyone present below the penthouse right now?’

‘Other people are located on the third to eleventh floor, sir. The rest of the building is composed of offices closed during the night’, Jarvis answered.

The penthouse was on the 52nd floor; there was a chance those people hadn’t heard anything. But what about the people in the adjacent buildings?

‘Friday, did anyone call the cops?’

‘Checking right away, boss.’

‘If that’s the case, call the Superintendent of the New York State Police right away; tell him it’s a false alert. Code SIHS-56812a.’

‘Copy that.’

Happy then finally forced himself to listen to what was going on in ‘76, turning the volume up again and bracing himself for what he was about to hear, staring at the two red figures on his phone.

Peter was talking really fast, so fast Happy’s scared brain was barely able to process any of it. Some words stood out from the rest, though: _‘I hurt myself’_ and _‘I took my shirt off’_.

_Shit._

‘Jarvis, is the intruder hurt?’

‘He cut himself while breaking the glass wall, sir. It appears to be a minor injury.’

And then Tony spoke: _‘I’m so drunk I can’t even tell if you’re real or not.’_

He contemplated calling Sam Wilson. He knew he was in New York City right now after having spent more than a month on _‘spiritual vacation’_ in South America. He could call Bruce Banner or even Stephen Strange too. But what would he say? _Please help me! Tony’s drunk and suicidal and maybe about to confess his love to Peter Parker!_ No, he couldn’t do that to Tony. He was already suicidal; other people knowing would be the last straw for him.

And Pepper, God… Tony had escaped from rehab, had lied to her face… He had called the kid in the middle of the night and asked him to come, Happy was sure of it. He was shitfaced… Peter was apparently shirtless… God, this couldn’t end well.

He had trouble breathing. F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice made him jump in his seat.

‘Boss, two 911 calls were made after the window was broken by Peter. None of them mentioned any gunshots. Assistant to the Superintendent successfully contacted. No investigation will be carried out.’

_‘Are you really in love with me?’_ came Peter’s sweet youthful voice.

‘Jesus Christ! Friday, call Pepper!’ Happy cried out, ripping the device from his ear.

‘Right a—’

‘No! No, I take that back, I take that back! Just… just… aaarrrgh! Tony, what have you _done?_ What are you _doing?’ _he cried out, holding his own head.

_Tony… Tony, don’t fuck up… Don’t fuck up even more!_

He tried again to call the kid but he must have left his phone at home. 

He wanted so desperately to protect both of them, but what if he was too late this time? What if Tony snapped and Peter _let him?_

It took him a moment but he forced himself to calm down. ‘Okay! Okay, it’s not that bad, it’s not that bad... Shit… _Shit!’_

He put the earpiece back with trembling fingers and frowned at the sound of drunk Tony shouting at Peter.

‘_Say it!’_

‘_53\. You’re 53.’_

‘_That’s right. I’m 53. I walk with a cane now, did you know that?’_

‘_Dr. House had a cane and he was pretty hot.’_

‘_Wh— you… you… you little…’_

…reckless, thoughtless, insolent brat, Happy finished for him. But drunk Tony simply said after a pause:_ ‘House wasn’t hot.’_

‘_Yes he was.’_

_‘No, he wasn’t. Nobody thought he was hot.’_

‘_Everyone thought House was hot!’_

_‘Because he was a genius.’_

‘_Because he was a genius’, _Peter repeated.

The sudden silence spoke volumes. Happy’s chest constricted in dread.

He took the earpiece out for the second time. He couldn’t listen to this. This was wrong on so many different levels. First of all, despite everything, he wasn’t comfortable in the slightest eavesdropping on them like that. It felt wrong. And then obviously, Tony being there was wrong. Peter being there was wrong. Their requited love was very, _very_ wrong. Tony was now almost _four decades_ older than Peter. _37 years_ to be exact. Not only could he be his _father_, he could also technically be his _grandfather._ They were together alone, at night, in a secret place, and now fully aware of each other’s feelings. The only hope he had right now was how drunk Tony was. He knew Peter would never take advantage of him. The twisted irony made him throw his head back against the pilot seat and _growl._

He had to calm down. Thank God he trusted the kid. He couldn’t deny the fact that he felt better knowing Peter was there. He knew how insanely strong and fast and _good_ he was. If Tony had another gun, if he really decided to jump out of that fucking window, Peter would stop him in no time. He was a good kid; he would take care of him. That was probably what he was doing right now and why he had come in the first place. Happy sighed and closed his eyes. He reluctantly pushed the earpiece back into his left ear just to be sure.

‘… _have to go to bed!’_

‘ _Alright, alright! I don’t need any help for that, Jeez!’_

He took it off for the third time and couldn’t help but crack the ghost of a smile. He’d been right. Peter was taking care of him. He truly was a good kid. Happy would get there soon enough and then… and then they would all have to have a serious conversation. He didn’t eavesdrop on them again until he had safely landed at a heliport outside Manhattan a few minutes later. At first, he thought he couldn’t hear anything because of the wind and rain. But that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t just any earpiece he was wearing.

‘Jarvis, what’s going on? Are they sleeping?’

‘Yes, sir. Both are asleep.’

Happy was so fucking relieved he had to stop walking for a moment.

‘In the same bed?’ he had to ask, he just had to… just in case…

‘Yes, sir.’

‘_What?’_ he cried out.

_No._ No, that couldn’t be it, Peter would never… He couldn’t utter the question he _had_ to ask, so instead he opted for a less cringe-worthy equivalent: ‘Are they wearing anything?’

‘I believe both of them are naked, sir.’

Happy stopped in his tracks and just stared at the tarmac. He didn’t move for a while.

‘Sir, are you alright?’ came a voice to his left. ‘Sir? Mr. Hogan?’ Happy turned his face towards the person speaking to him.

‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright, mind your own business.’

‘I’m sorry, sir, you just… looked really in sho—’

‘Like I said, mind your own business’, he repeated harshly to the poor guy.

It was his fault. He had stopped listening. He had taken that fucking thing off. Why had he done that? What a stupid, irresponsible move! He could have… he should have… God! And now it was over… He had failed to protect Tony… He couldn’t believe Peter had done it while his friend was shitfaced. They had both completely lost their minds. Yes. Yes, that was it: they had lost it, _both of them_. With all the crazy stuff they had been through, was it so surprising after all? He now had to concentrate on mending the pieces. He had to do his job. His shock was soon replaced with anger and determination. He had no qualms in spying on them anymore.

‘Did they fuck?’

‘Excuse me, sir?’ Jarvis sounded actually appalled. In other circumstances, that would have made Happy almost smile.

‘I said: did they have sex?’

‘Sir, Tony and his friend Peter didn’t engage in any sexual activities.’

‘What? Are you sure?’

‘Positive, sir.’

‘Oh thank God!’ Happy cried out, now alone inside a large elevator. ‘Wait, why are they both naked?’

‘Tony’s friend Peter—’

Happy cringed.‘Just Peter.’

‘My apologies, sir. _Peter _helped Tony take a shower after the latter vomited all over himself. Peter then—’

‘Okay, okay! So now they’re asleep and nothing sexual happened between them _at all?’_

‘Nothing, sir, although Peter spent some time staring at Tony’s—’

‘Okay, okay, stop!’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I also think you should be informed of—

‘No, no, no, I heard enough, thank you, Jarvis.’

‘As you wish, sir.’

_Holy fucking Christ._

He made it to the penthouse under ten minutes. Traffic was smooth before 5am. He was going to barge in and make them understand this was_ wrong_. God, he wanted to punch some sense into them. There used to be a punching bag in the apartment next to ‘76. Fuck, he hoped it was still there because he needed to punch something right now. He slammed his index finger against the numbers forming the code that granted access to Tony’s private elevator. The regular, public ones didn’t go all the way up.

1776\. _Independence, my ass._

Once he was going up however, as he was getting closer and closer to them, he felt more and more nervous. He was going to barge into the bedroom and then what? They were both naked in the same bed. Peter would lose his mind getting caught like that. Tony too, even drunk. It would make things worse. They both needed some sleep. He too needed some sleep. On top of that, his Cartesian mind couldn’t completely reason his empathetic heart, no matter how hard he tried. The two superheroes were truly in love with each other and there was some strange beauty in that, however fucked up.

This was private.

But Peter was _sixteen_, for fuck’s sake!

_What am I gonna do? What can I do? Shit, what should I do?_

The doors of the elevator opened to the old familiar hallway. It was large and elegant in a minimalistic fashion. The heavy rain was forming a curtain of water along the glass wall next to the door to what used to be his own space so long ago whenever Tony felt like banging random people or getting high or both. The monotonous pelting of the rain muffled by the reinforced glass was soothing. He simply listened to it for a moment; it helped him calm down. He turned to his left and stared at the imposing ebony front door of ‘76. So many memories flared up at the same time, but one particularly stood out, the familiar place he hadn’t seen in such a long time making it vivid, almost visceral. He had completely forgotten about it.

_It was one of the coldest nights of the year in the winter of 2003. Happy had only been working for Tony for a couple of months. Tony was 33 and a mess. He was 37 and took his new job very seriously. His young boss was laughing when he drunkenly staggered out of his Secret Den 2.0 holding the arm of an equally drunk man around the same age – the Russian chess player who had beaten Kasparov the previous week to much media coverage. He was blond and lanky and clean-shaven and had a mischievous glint in his eyes Happy instantly couldn’t stand. It was the first time he was seeing Tony with a male friend there._

‘_Whoo, whoo, whoo, where are you two going? Boss…’, he started, stepping between the two men and the elevator._

_They just snickered. _

‘_Boss, come on, you know you can’t go out like that, you know that.’_

‘_Why not?’ Tony exclaimed gleefully._

_Even with his new perfectly trimmed moustache and goatee, he still looked like a bratty teenager, defying common sense and authority right in their faces, not giving a shit about anything. When was he finally going to grow up? Was he ever going to? Happy was already exhausted and it had only been two months._

‘_Because you’re very drunk and it’s five degrees outside and you’re not even wearing coats’, he calmly replied to his boss._

_‘Oh!’ Tony dramatically dragged the diphthong, eyes wide in mock realization. ‘We’re not wearing coats, honey’, he said, turning his face to look at his friend._

_Happy’s blood froze. _

‘_Whoops’, the chess player just said._

_‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm’, Tony told him, lowering his eyelids in a lustful gaze. The man grinned, his lids just as heavy, and Happy watched in horror as Tony very slowly, obscenely lapped into his friend’s mouth right in front of him. Homophobic by habit, Happy was shocked to his core and his first instinct was to try and separate them, grabbing his boss by the shoulder a little too forcefully._

‘_Whoooohohoho!’ Tony cried out in mock shock before his voice turned into a chuckle. ‘Look at that! Are we shocking you, Happy?’ he asked staring up at his disgusted bodyguard, his defiant and amused face tilting to the side. He then stepped forward, looked up at his taller, glaring employee inches from his face — the smell of weed and alcohol making Happy hold his breath — and added: ‘You can work for someone else if that doesn’t make you… happy.’ The stupid joke made the Russian Grand Master giggle like a schoolgirl. Happy was fuming, throwing a murderous look at the lanky blonde with the words ‘fucking faggot’ at the tip of his tongue._

‘_Hey, hey, just calm down’, the Russian said, bringing a hand to his shoulder._

_‘Don’t you dare touch me, you fucking faggot!’ the words inevitably tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them._

_Tony froze, and then there was a look of mild interest on his stoned face. ‘Really?’ he just said._

_‘You can’t go out’, Happy repeated to them. ‘Go back inside!’_

_Tony chuckled._

‘_I said go back inside! Now!’_

‘_Alright, alright! Let’s go back inside, baby doll’, Tony said. Happy had the urge to punch his boss’s smug little face._

_‘Russian doll…’ the guy_ _corrected him in his heavy accent, still with his fucking smiling eyes. Happy hated those eyes._

_‘Mmh, yeah, Russian baby doll… you want it again, don’t you?’_

_The guy giggled before saying in a filthy tone: ‘Yeah, go back inside, Tony…’_

_Happy wanted to throw up. It was Tony’s turn to giggle. He sounded like a faggot then too and it made him shudder._

‘_Get us more weed, will you? Be quick!’ Tony then shouted in his normal deep voice over his shoulder before slamming the ebony door shut..._

…the door he was looking at right now. And now Tony was 53 and naked in bed with a 16 year-old boy. Happy wasn’t homophobic anymore, though. Or was he? He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He remembered the short but chilling lecture a sober Tony had given him a few days after the chess player incident.

‘_Look, Happy, you got any problem with me being bi, just resign and work for someone else, okay?’_

‘_I… I’m sorry… I just… I don’t understand.’_

‘_What is there to understand? You’re not one of those rednecks, are you?’_

‘_No. No, I’m not. I’m sorry for how I reacted that night, I… I guess I just need to get used to it.’_

_‘Well if you don’t, you’re out, you get me? I won’t have any bigot in my entourage.’_

_‘Yes, boss, I understand.’_

‘_Good. Now drive.’_

Tony hadn’t brought a lot of men to ’76 after that chess player, and then he had simply stopped going there altogether around ‘07 when he started noticing Pepper. Happy remembered several bisexual threesomes his boss had arranged, but come to think of it, he hadn’t seen any other men alone with Tony since that winter of ‘04, at least not _lovers_… He had eventually concluded his boss preferred the company of women. He even remembered asking him about it one day while driving him to one of his jets sometime during the summer of ’06, the morning after one of those threesomes. Tony and he had grown quite close already in the three years Happy had then been working for him.

_‘Can I ask you about something private?’ he asked, looking at Tony through the rear-view mirror._

‘_Define private’, Tony replied. Happy hesitated. When he didn’t answer, his boss added: ‘Come on, go ahead, just shoot.’_

_‘Do you prefer men or women? Or is it 50/50?’_

_Tony laughed. ‘Oooh, getting curious now, are we?’_

_‘No, I mean, yeah, it kind of… intrigues me, I guess.’_

‘_Wanna give it a try?’ he teased his now friend._

‘_No! No, no, no, I’m just asking.’_

‘_Because you’re just curious.’_

‘_Yeah. Is that bad?’_

_‘I don’t know, Happy, you tell me.’_

_‘Stop talking to me with that tone.’_

_‘What tone?’_

_‘Come on!’_

_‘Alright, alright’, Tony said, his eyes laughing. ‘I just… enjoy both. Never really thought about it all that much… Women are easier, though.’_

_‘You bring women in more often’, Happy remarked. ‘Like… way more often than men.’_

‘_I do.’_

‘_Why?’_

_‘Why do you think?’ Tony scoffed. ‘Far less risky, obviously… Plus it’s harder for me to find a guy I really need to bang.’_

_‘Like that chess player?’_

_There was an odd silence._

_‘Right…’_

_The light turned green and Happy just drove for a moment._

‘_Did you want him because he was a genius like you?’_

_Tony was staring out of the car window and Happy watched him slowly blink and sigh, a discreet but clearly painful expression on his face. He had loved the guy, Happy realized, even if their fling had lasted only a few days._

‘_I guess…’_

_‘Doesn’t work like that with women, though’, Happy tried to stir the conversation away to a lighter subject. Misogyny was always a win._

_‘It does, actually. Fucking brain-dead dolls gets old faster than you might think. The smartest ones are the best, especially the bitchy ones.’_

_Happy chuckled._

_‘But there are tons of smart men out there too’, he pointed out. ‘I’m sure a lot of them…’ he stopped himself from saying the word ‘gay’, ‘...not totally straight’, he awkwardly finished._

_‘True... but not a lot of them can beat Kasparov twice in a row…’_

_Happy thought about that. Not even Tony could. Was he saying he only fucked men that were even smarter than him? Well then, that didn’t leave a lot of room for choice indeed..._

_‘That does rule out a lot of men… Pretty much all of them, actually...’_

_‘What can I say? My sensitive little tushy requires a big fat brain, how’s that for a confession?’_

_‘Jesus…’_

_‘Still shocked, huh? After all this time?’_

_‘You… I thought… Nevermind.’_

_‘No, no, no, do continue! You thought…?’_

_‘Nothing, forget it, I just—’_

_‘Oh you’re not gonna escape that easily, buddy. You thought…’_

_‘Tony…’_

_‘Come on…’_

_‘I thought you were always on top, alright? Satisfied?’_

_‘Very’, he said before adding a pensive ‘Interesting...’_

_‘Interesting?’_

_‘Yes.’_

_‘Why? That’s pretty logical consider—’_

_‘Logical? Goodness gracious!’ Tony cried out in mock outrage._

_‘Sorry, I—’_

_‘I like both. Giving and receiving. Does that shock you?’_

_‘No.’_

_‘Obviously, yes.’_

_‘I’m sorry, I thought you were the kind of guy who liked to…’_

_‘Dominate people?’_

_‘Basically, yes.’_

_‘Oh, I_ _ love_ _ it. Granted, that’s my jam. Doesn’t mean I don’t need to be the whimpering mess every once in a while.’_

_‘God!’_

_‘Ivan wasn’t all that smart, though… More like a trained monkey…’_

_‘Jesus…’_

_‘What? You need to get laid, buddy! You need to _ _learn_ _. Life’s too short not to know what a good prostate massage feels like, trust me, and no need to be gay or even bi to get one.’_

_‘Okay, okay!’_

He tore his eyes away from that door and blinked long and hard to make the memories go away. Back to the present, now…

‘Jarvis, are they still asleep?’

‘They are, sir.’

‘Alert me if either one of them wakes up.’

‘I will, sir.’

‘Thank you.’

He went for the other door.

‘Shit, what’s the code again?’

‘623311 251521, sir.’

He closed his eyes and couldn’t stop a fond chuckle from escaping his mouth. It was the childish code for _FUCK YOU_ Tony had programmed after a nasty argument they’d had in 2005. After a few days, challenging events had proven Happy right, and he had shown Tony just how stubborn, reasonable and fiercely loyal an employee he was, unafraid to stand up to his boss when he thought it necessary to protect him against himself — and boy did his boss need that kind of protection… Tony had even apologized to him afterwards, a thing he rarely ever did. Their relationship had changed then, to one of mutual trust and respect. But Tony had never changed that long-ass, stupid code.

It made him emotional to be back here.

He entered his old suite and uncovered his old couch, throwing the white sheet covering it onto the floor and sending a thin cloud of dust in the air in the process. The place was cleaned every year or so by someone on the purple list, a list of employees who had proven themselves fiercely loyal to Stark Industries over the years. They were all pretty smart, trained and efficient secret-keepers. Happy remembered the old African-American lady whose sharp wit and gritty sarcasm used to perfectly match Tony’s. When she had passed away, his boss had sent a million dollars to her family, and had even attended her funeral, which he never ever did for anyone. Happy couldn’t remember her name but he suddenly missed her.

He waited there, dozing off after a while. Jarvis woke him up a few minutes later, a little before 6am. Peter was awake.

‘What is he doing, is he leaving?’, he asked the old AI very fast.

‘No, sir, he isn’t moving. I believe he is watching Tony sleep. He was most likely woken up by the sound of Tony’s gun falling from a wall.’

‘Falling from… what?’

‘The substance Peter used to stick it to a wall dissolved almost entirely, making the firearm fall to the floor, sir.’

‘Oh.’

‘Peter is now removing the su—’

‘I don’t wanna know! Just… just tell me if he’s getting up or not.’

When nothing happened for almost ten minutes, Happy asked: ‘Did he go back to sleep?’

‘He did, sir.’

At 6:45 his alarm woke him up and he braced himself for the call he had to make. It rang three times before she picked up.

‘Yes, Happy.’

‘Hi, Pepper…’

‘Oh no, what has he done this time… He’s escaped, hasn’t he?’

No-one had even noticed Tony was missing yet, but Pepper wasn’t Tony’s wife for nothing. She understood right away. She remained calm as he told her where her husband was, but he couldn’t tell her about Peter, he physically couldn’t. And so she took care of that herself.

‘Is he alone?’

His tongue was stuck against his palate.

‘Oatmeal time!’ Morgan chanted loudly in the background.

‘I’m on the phone, sweetie, why don’t you set the table for us?’

‘I can’t reach the bowls!’

‘Just grab some spoons and glasses! There’s some orange juice left in the fridge! Careful with the glasses!’ She then spoke into her phone again. ‘Is he with the kid?’

Her tone added to the fact that she immediately jumped to that conclusion were clear indications that she knew.

‘Yeah…’ he replied in a small voice. ‘You— you know?’

‘Yes’, she simply said.

‘Nothing happened, though, I made sure of that’, he added quickly. ‘I— I mean, I’m positive they didn’t—they didn’t…’

‘Okay.’

They were silent for a moment, Happy still faintly hearing Morgan’s high voice in the background. He couldn’t believe Tony had told her. Or had she found out in some other way? The thought made him shudder.

‘Did he tell him?’

‘I—what?’

‘Tony… did he tell him?’

Happy sighed. ‘Yes.’

She was quiet again. Happy physically felt her heartbreak from hundreds of miles away.

‘I’m coming.’

‘What?’

‘I need some time. Three to four hours, maybe. Don’t let him leave. Put the penthouse on lockdown, I don’t care; just don’t let him out of the building. Take care of the kid.’

‘Okay…’

She hung up.

He then called May. She thought Peter was still sleeping in his room, preparing pancakes for him. He lied to her, telling her the kid had been called during the night to stop some bad guys for the Avengers. She seemed to buy it instantly but then…

‘Happy… what’s going on… and I mean… really…’

‘What? Wh—what do you mean?’

‘You sound… weird… like you’re lying to me...’

_Oh shit._

‘I—I’m not lying to you, I just… I—’

‘Oh God, is Peter injured?’

‘No, no, no, he’s okay, it’s just… there are… things… I think you shouldn’t know because… I think he should tell you himself.’

There, he had found a way out of this. _Phew!_

‘Oh. Okay…’ she slowly said.

They both hung up a minute later and Happy puffed a sigh of relief. How would May react? Jesus Christ, he didn’t want to think about _that._

‘Are they still asleep?’

‘Still asleep, sir’, J.A.R.V.I.S repeated for the hundredth time, even he sounding tired.

It happened at exactly 10am.

Because their lives weren’t fucked up enough… Because the kid hadn’t freaked out enough. Because there _had_ to be another big issue thrown into their faces like that _right now_, when they were at their most vulnerable. _Goddammit!_

_God, Peter… Poor kid…_

He found out from May first. She called him and he picked up expecting everything but the bomb she was about to drop. She was instantly _screaming_ at him, her voice rough and hysterical.

‘Why didn’t you tell me, you fucking asshole!’

‘What? May?’

‘You _knew _and you didn’t tell me! Are you _out of your mind?_ I can’t believe you right now!’

She was heaving and crying.

‘Oh my god, what happened? What are you talking about?’

‘You _knew!’_

_She knows._ Oh my god, how? _How?_

‘You _know?’_

‘What? Do I know? _Do I know? Everyone_ knows now!’

Once again, Happy’s blood froze. He was going to have a heart attack. He was totally going to have one _right now._

‘What?’

‘Where’s Peter?’

‘May, why are you saying everyo—’

_‘Where. Is. Peter?’_ she screamed.

‘Here! He’s asleep! May, how did you find out?’

‘TV! That James Johansson guy or whatever his stupid name is!’

‘What? _What?’_

‘You don’t know?’

‘No! What are you talking about?’ he shouted.

‘Just turn your TV on or look at your phone!’ she shrieked.

‘Friday!’

F.R.I.D.A.Y instantly turned the huge TV screen in front of the couch on.

He braced himself, expecting images of the two of them naked in bed together taken by Beck’s drones through a window, but the first thing he saw —a headline written in big black capital letters— however terrible for poor Peter and May, made him collapse onto the couch in unimaginable relief.

BREAKING NEWS: SPIDER-MAN’S TRUE IDENTITY REVEALED.

‘May… May, it’s okay…’

‘Yeah! Yeah, it’s totally fine! Perfectly fine!’ she cried out, her sarcastic tone making him suddenly realize they didn’t live in a secret penthouse or protected mansion or even a house in the middle of nowhere, like Tony and the other Avengers did. He sat up.

‘Oh my god, May, did you lock your front door?’

‘Of course I did!’ she spat. ‘Happy, swear to me you’re not lying to me and he’s really safe.’

‘He is, he is safe, and he’s really asleep, I swear to you. Now, listen to me very carefully…’

This was a Code Red. She was in danger, an easy target for lunatics and the hundreds of enemies and crazy fans Spider-Man had accumulated over the years. He called Sam Wilson straight away to come and fetch her. The future new Captain America would escort her to a secret location guarded by the Avengers. May told him about Peter’s best friend Ned and his girlfriend MJ. Could they be in danger too? Happy didn’t want to take any risks. He asked Rhodey and Banner to take care of them and he didn’t have to say why. They all already knew. As soon as he hung up from his call with Banner, his phone didn’t stop buzzing. Stark Industries had been targeted too. Beck had also revealed to the public that Tony had successfully invented time travel. Thankfully, he didn’t have any proof of that. He had presented himself as the victim, claiming Peter and Tony were narcissistic schemers who wanted to keep revolutionary tech all to themselves. Lawyers and Congressmen were already calling him. He gulped when he saw the name of the President of the United States appear on his missed calls list. The only call he took was from Pepper.

‘Oh god, Happy… is he still asleep?’

‘Yeah…’

‘And Tony?’

He thought she had been talking about Tony.

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t let either of them leave, you hear me?’

‘Trust me, I won’t.’

‘The kid has super strength…’

‘What? Oh shit… didn’t think of that…’

‘Call Banner or Strange. They’re the only ones in New York capable of restraining him… just in case... I’ll be there in 20 minutes.’

‘Okay…’

Happy brought his hands to his face and rubbed it hard. This was a nightmare.

* * *

Peter looked like a deer in the headlights. He was wearing some of Tony’s old clothes. The suit pants were too long. He was barefoot. _He’s such a cutie_, Pepper couldn’t help thinking despite the surreal, heart-breaking situation she was in. For a second she thought the boy was going to faint, but he regained his balance.

‘Good morning, Peter’, she told him in a gentle voice

She watched him try to regain his composure and pitifully fail.

‘Ma’am, I… I…’

‘I know. I don’t blame you. I’m not mad at you.’

‘What?’ he muttered.

He really sounded like a child, which he _fucking was._ She took a deep breath.

‘I know everything. All I want now… all I’m asking… is for you to wait until you turn seventeen.’ Peter looked at her as if she’d grown another head. She went on. ‘Tony could go to jail, do you understand?’ He really seemed on the verge of passing out. ‘Like I said, I’m not mad at you, I know this is… _deep_… You two share…’, she tried to find the right words, ‘…_insane experiences_… and you saved Tony’s life... I told you I would never forget, remember?’

She had tears in her eyes.

‘I… I… Mrs. Stark…’

She took another deep breath.

‘Now I need you to listen to me very carefully’, she told him stepping towards him with a strange look in her eyes. Peter flinched away from her, took an awkward step to his left, gulping, his eyes wide and frightened. ‘I need you to walk through that door over there and take deep breaths, okay? Happy and Bruce Banner are waiting for you there. There has been… a new development with Quentin Beck… Peter, look at me. It’s gonna be okay. Just take long, deep breaths.’

‘What? Why? Is May alright?’ he squeaked.

‘Yes, everyone’s okay.’ 

Why didn’t that reassure him at all? She was staring at him with a look of deep worry that scared him more than anything else. That meant that this ‘new development’ was more serious than what she knew about Tony and him.

He had already come up with the correct hypothesis when he stepped into the smaller apartment. The Hulk was there, standing behind the couch on which Happy was sitting.

‘Hey, Peter. Why don’t you come and sit down?’ the green giant said with a fake smile.

‘Beck told everyone, didn’t he?’ Peter blurted out.

They were stunned.

‘My name…’ Peter added in a tiny whisper.

‘Did Pepper tell you?’ Happy asked in disbelief.

He shook his head.

‘Are—are you okay?’

Peter didn’t answer him. He didn’t move for a few seconds, and then he fell to his knees. 

It was odd.

He didn’t fully pass out and yet he felt hardly conscious. He couldn’t remember why he was on the floor, and he couldn’t move. In an instant, the Hulk was leaning over him, his huge hand on his upper back. Peter’s eyes were madly fixing the floor. He was breathing hard. When he could form a coherent thought again, he was sitting next to Happy on a couch.

‘Where’s May?’

‘Safe. With the Avengers. Ned and MJ too. They’re all in the same secret facility in Long Island.’

_Oh God…_ He’d completely forgotten about his date with MJ. They had agreed to meet up this morning at 9:30 in Manhattan. She wanted him to show her what he could do as Spider-Man…

‘My whole class… the Decathlon team that went to Europe with me…’ he muttered.

‘Under protection by State Police for the next 48 hours, just in case.’

‘Thank you’, Peter simply said. ‘Beck revealed anything else?’

Happy knew all too well what he meant. ‘Yes. He revealed the existence of time travel technology but has no evidence whatsoever. He… he didn’t reveal anything else.’

‘What else does he know?’ a deep voice suddenly asked behind him. The Hulk was here, he vaguely remembered. Right…

‘I don’t know’, Happy lied.

They stayed like that for a while, none of them speaking, Peter assuming they were giving him time for the news to sink in. The thing was, Peter was still processing the dreamy reality of Tony Stark being in love with him, and it weirdly protected him from totally freaking out.

_God, May…_

He followed Happy and Mr. Banner out of the apartment, throwing a longing glance at the dark door before stepping into the elevator. Mrs. Stark was probably talking to him right now… 

He was wearing Mr. Stark’s clothes, he suddenly remembered. He was like him now. Out in the open. Everyone knew his name. Everyone knew his face. He couldn’t go to high school anymore. He would never be a Senior in Midtown Tech. He would never go to college. May would never be able to have a normal life ever again either. And neither would Ned.

MJ…

He started crying in the car. It was stupid. He had known his anonymity couldn’t last forever, but he had been so busy fearing Beck would blab about his love for Mr. Stark to Mrs. Stark or Mr. Stark himself that he hadn’t even thought about the possibility that his enemy would do _that._ He had naively thought himself protected by the Starks, protected by the police, protected by the international secret services… And now his life was ruined, collateral damage hitting everyone he loved… hurting them… _What was I thinking, getting a girlfriend as if I were just a normal teenager? Of course I was always going to hurt her! Of course I was always going to put her in danger! _He had to break up with her now. And Ned… He would never forgive himself if anything ever happened to him. He had to cut all ties with him too. He was going to lose his best friend.

When Happy asked him if he wanted to see Ned and MJ, he said no. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing either of them right now. Just May. He needed to see May. He didn’t meet Happy’s eyes. The man’s entire body language was enough for him to know that he knew about last night, like Mrs. Stark. He lost his balance again when he got out of the car in an underground parking lot. Happy wrapped an arm around his shoulders to steady him. _He isn’t mad at me? _He felt disconnected from his own legs, from the unfamiliar environment, from everything. May hugged him tight. He barely registered what she was saying to him, blankly staring at her large, teary eyes through her thick glasses.

‘He’s in shock’, someone said.

A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders and he was sat down on another couch.

‘Honey, did you hear? We’re going on vacation!’

_Mr. Stark is in love with me._

They led him into a plane. He stared at the rushing ground through the window on his left, and then at the cloudy sky, patches of blue occasionally peeking through the vast expanse of white, until they flew above it. He thought about that time when he suddenly had the Earth under his feet, holding on to an alien spaceship. May was holding his right hand tightly. He threw up twice.

The flight wasn’t very long. One hour at the most. When he stepped outside with May still holding him tight, blinding sunlight made him squint. He smelled freshly cut grass and flowers through the kerosene.

_He’s in love with me._

They were in the countryside in the middle of nowhere, bright green grass and trees and colorful flowers all around. Peter stared at the distant horizon visible above the curves of a descending forest; blue mountains stood miles and miles away beyond an endless stretch of cultivated land. He turned around. They were on the side of a hill. May was smiling. Happy was talking.

They were in Rappahannock county, Virginia.


	23. Rappahannock

Peter turned around and saw that Bruce Banner was here too. The giant smiled at him just like May had. He was barefoot, and only then did he remember that he was as well. He glanced at the large shoulder sling the strongest Avenger was still wearing and then couldn’t help but look down at the exposed burnt flesh of his right hand. He hadn’t lost it like Mr. Stark had. 

He had a flash of his mentor’s scarred, naked body.

‘Hey, easy there... You alright, kid?’

‘Yeah…’

Happy led the three of them into the forest down a winding trail that soon turned into wooden steps. Peter walked with May still holding on to his arm, the grass, dirt and twigs feeling nice under his bare feet. Mr. Banner followed behind. 

His heightened senses were picking up so many wonderful things. The musky smell of wet earth and grass; the scarce little patter of raindrops dripping down the leaves that had gathered them during the night; the chirping and tweeting and singing of so many different birds; the hot July sun peeking through the canopy, warming the back of his neck...

_ He’s in love with me. _

‘Oh, this is lovely!’ May said.

He stopped on a wobbly wooden step, suddenly very aware again that the clothes he was wearing were Mr Stark’s, including the boxers. They all stopped too, Happy turning around with a worried look on his face.

‘Wait… What are we doing here…’ Peter slowly asked.

‘Taking a break in this lovely place!’ Mr. Banner brightly replied.

‘You need a vacation, sweetie, remember? Now more than ever’, May added.

‘No. No, no, no… I need to get back…’

‘It’s okay, kid’, Mr. Banner said in his nice, deep voice. ‘Your aunt is right, you need a break. And you need to stay away from the public eye for a while, until this all settles down… and I mean from a legal point of view more than anything else. Look, I’m gonna be honest with you, kid. You two need to hide for a while...’

Peter nodded but didn’t move. The three adults gave him time to process everything again. A squirrel climbed down the trunk of a tree and froze at its bottom when it spotted them, before scuttling away. May let out a little squeak.

_‘Alright, skedaddle there, young buck!’_ Tony’s voice echoed in his mind. Had he been already in love with him back then?

‘What if something comes up?’ Peter suddenly asked.

‘We’ll call you. You’re 45 minutes away from New York by jet’, Mr. Banner answered.

Peter nodded again.

‘I forgot my phone… in… in…’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you another one’, Happy interrupted him.

Okay… Okay, then... Yes, he really, really needed a vacation. The whole idea felt surreal, though. This place felt surreal. His entire life felt surreal.

Reality felt surreal.

He had the odd feeling of having been teleported to this place, with almost no memory of how he got here.

He expected a small cabin in the woods where he and May would hide for a while, but was met instead with the gorgeous sight of a beautiful white manor in the middle of some huge pine trees towering over it. It wasn’t very tall but long and charming, a perfectly mowed lawn going up into a slope along its right side. There was a marbled terrace bordered with flower beds and a few olive trees. They had reached the property through the backyard. Peter did a 360, wondering for a second if this was another illusion, unable not to feel a little joy at the prospect of spending some vacation here with May, in such a beautiful, quiet place. He spotted a small wooden cabin exactly like the one he had just pictured in his head, as well as a pretty little house more than a hundred feet away across the vast yard.

‘Welcome to the Starks’ Rappahannock estate’, Happy told them.

‘Oh my god…’ May muttered, stars in her eyes.

There was a little tree house too, sitting on a small but bulky tree with a stone bench next to it. He pictured Mr. Stark sitting on that bench while his little girl was playing inside the tree house.

‘It’s one of their many private properties; the only one in Virginia. Tony—’ Happy suddenly stopped talking. He had been about to tell them the romantic story of how Tony had bought it in 2019 in honor of a pregnant Pepper —her real name being Virginia— just before their wedding day… Pepper had rolled her eyes at the corny pun but had beamed at Tony anyway. They had come here many times after Morgan was born to spend some quiet family time near the gorgeous Blue Mountains, Pepper riding horses and Tony reading for hours in his library when they weren’t playing, hiking or doing other activities with their daughter. Pepper had been the one suggesting the hiding place to Happy, to his silent bewilderment.

‘Tony…’ May repeated, prompting him to go on.

Peter shuddered at a sudden flashback.

_ ‘Tony!’ _

‘Nevermind. Follow me’, Happy said.

‘You okay, kid?’ Mr. Banner asked again.

‘Yeah…’

The place was huge but not ridiculously so like Stark Tower. It had clearly been designed for a very rich family but it had a cozy, warm feel to it. Peter thought it had to be Mrs. Stark’s doing. Happy gave them a quick tour but that quick tour took half an hour. The Rappahannock property spread over 800 acres, complete with two guest cottages, a pool, a pond, garages, barns, stables, several miles of cultivated land, and even parts of a hill, forest and river. The main manor only had five bedrooms though, which made the place not that intimidating. Every room, including the library, was human-sized; some of them even small. Happy didn’t show them the Starks’ private suite with Morgan’s bedroom next to it, but he did lead them into three separate bedrooms before asking the three of them to pick the one they preferred.

‘You— you’re staying with us?’ Peter asked the Hulk, taken aback, ‘Mr. Banner?’, he awkwardly added, feeling a bit rude.

‘Sure! I need some vacation too, you know’, the giant replied, pointing at his burnt right arm with his kind eyes. ‘And it’s actually Dr. Banner, not that it really matters… Just call me Bruce’, he added with a smile.

There was a caretaker by the name of Charlie living there on the other side of the manor —the front side— down a long path lined up with small cypresses leading to the large pond of the property. On that side, they were no longer in the middle of the forest. There were miles and miles of fenced fields with the portion of the river the Starks owned hidden behind a tree line not far from Charlie’s cottage. It was a beautiful summer day, occasional puffy clouds slowly drifting above the stunning landscape against the deep blue sky. Peter closed his eyes and filled his lungs with the sweet country air. Charlie was watching a soccer game when they entered his cottage. Peter stupidly thought of Santa Claus when he first saw him. He was an old, chubby man sporting a white beard and a big belly, but he still looked strong in spite of his age. He greeted them with a big smile and a surprising Scottish accent, and turned his TV off. Happy then started talking but all Peter could hear now was the continuous stream of the river nearby. He squeezed May’s arm when the sudden memory of his peaceful train ride alongside a river in the Czech and German countryside made him lose his breath.

‘Ow, sweetie, you’re hurting me!’ May cried out.

_ I keep hurting everyone I love. _

‘Shit…’ Happy said when Peter fell to his knees again.

Charlie made him tea.

‘He’s still in shock. He needs some rest.’

He couldn’t stop shivering despite the hot July weather. They escorted him back to the manor. His bedroom made him feel uncomfortable. The whole manor made him feel uncomfortable. He felt out of place despite the cozy interior design and reasonable space. He was an intruder there. He was in their home and he was a _home wrecker_. He couldn’t sleep at all and the memory of Pepper’s gentle words in Manhattan somehow made it worse. He went for a walk and felt watched. He turned around and sure enough, Bruce was watching him from the terrace. He was here for _him_, Peter suddenly realized. He was here to watch over him, to restrain him in case he freaked out.

Because no-one else could.

He walked faster into the forest along the trail they had taken earlier to reach the manor, and turned around to look down at Bruce again through the trees, the terrace now hundreds of feet away. He was standing up. He almost made Happy fall over when he violently bumped into his chest, narrowly missing his injured wrist now in a cast.

‘Ah!’ Happy cried out.

‘Sorry! Oh my god, are you okay?’

‘Yeah... Are you okay?’

‘God, I hate that fucking question…’ Peter whispered, eyebrows high. He was about to cry. Happy clumsily grabbed both of his shoulders for balance while trying to hide the sudden pain shooting up from his chest. He was positive he was going to have a big fat bruise because of the shock. Fuck, was the kid made of _stone_? He glanced at Banner over at the terrace and waved at him, lamely trying to reassure him.

‘We need to talk’, he told the crying boy. ‘Come on, let’s have a seat somewhere.’

‘No, here...’ Peter sobbed.

‘What?’

‘Talk to me here.’

‘Peter…’

‘I know what you’re going to say, anyway. Just make it quick…’ Happy suddenly couldn’t talk. ‘How did you find us?’ Peter asked through his tears.

‘Through Tony’s old AI…’ Happy replied after a moment. ‘An old Protocol was activated when he used his gun... He must’ve forgotten it even existed…’

‘Did— did you see us?’

‘No. But I heard you. Not all of it, though.’

A big fat tear rolled along the kid’s cheek. ‘I’m sorry…’

‘Look, it’s okay, it’s not that bad… Everyone’s _fine_. Everyone’s okay, you hear me? And thanks to you, Tony’s okay. You… you two just need some rest… and…’

‘Thanks to me? I hurt him!’

‘You— look, it’s fine. We just need to sort things out and—’

‘Did you know?’

Happy frowned. ‘What?’

‘He... he loves me. Did you know?’

Happy didn’t answer. Peter didn’t blame him.

‘You can’t…’ Happy started.

‘I know’, Peter nodded, in pain. Happy was again at a loss for words. They looked down at each other's feet for a while. ‘I can’t believe I shot him…’ Peter whispered after a moment.

‘You— what?’ Happy exclaimed.

‘You— you didn’t know?’

‘You did what?’, the older man repeated, stunned. He couldn't have heard this right.

‘I’m so sorry, I freaked out… I— I thought he was one of Beck’s illusions… I shot him in the face when—’

‘You—you did what?’ Happy repeated faintly.

‘With my webs!’ Peter clarified, the big misunderstanding dawning on him.

‘With—’ Happy didn't finish, sighing heavily instead. Of course Friday would have informed him had Tony been seriously injured.

‘It knocked him out cold… I… I carried him to the bed and… and… he doesn’t remember…’

‘Look, it’s okay. Tony’s fine now. You stopped him from killing himself, remember?’

Peter was crying again.

‘Peter…’

‘I wanna kill myself too’, he suddenly said in between sobs.

_ Fuck no. Shit. Shit, shit, shit! _

‘Hey, hey…’ Happy stepped forward, throwing his arms around the boy. ‘Don’t say that, it's... I know it’s hard but it's okay... Everything’s gonna be okay', he awkwardly mumbled in the kid's ear.

‘I hurt MJ…’ Peter said out of the blue.

Happy cringed. ‘I… I know…’

‘You know?’

‘Yeah… It’s alright, kid…’

‘No, it's not. I keep hurting everyone I love… I hurt you, just now…’

‘No, no you don’t, you didn’t, don’t say that…’

‘I can’t have sex’, he pitifully added in an even higher voice.

_Oh my god. What do I say, what do I say, what do I say? _‘You’re special. You’ll figure it out. There… there must be ways to… to… and there are people like you, you know… in… on… on other planets…’

Peter opened his eyes and frowned against his shoulder.

_Shit, what the fuck am I saying?_ Happy thought. He broke their hug and grabbed Peter’s shoulder with his left hand.

‘Look… I know… God…' he squeezed his eyes shut, what he was about to say costing him a tremendous effort. 'I know you two are in love, okay? And I know…’ he sighed, looking Peter in the eye now. ‘Listen, I know I can’t do anything about it. I wish I could, but I can’t. I know that now. But please, just… Please, just wait. Please wait until… until you’re at least eighteen and… shit. Shit!’

‘What happened to your hand?’

‘I fell. Think about May! Huh? How well do you think she’s gonna take it? And Tony… Tony’s not the easiest person to love, trust me… I… I feel I should tell you this because… and it’s not to try and...' Again, he stopped to puff another heavy sigh. 'He… he can’t… and I mean, not intentionally… he can’t be fully trusted, he…’ he trailed off, eyes going up, searching for the right words.

‘What are you talking about…’

‘He’s a mess, okay?’ Happy concluded, looking straight at Peter again.

Peter didn’t reply. He just blinked.

‘Shit… I can’t stop you, can I?’ Happy went on. Peter remained silent, slowly processing his words. ‘He always gets what he wants, always has...’ the older man then muttered to himself.

‘He told me to stay away.’

‘Of course he did… and maybe… maybe he’ll manage to stay away for a while too... but I know him, it’ll eat him alive... Pepper… Pepper knows that too… God, she knows him too well…’ Happy buried his face in his hands before resting them over his nose and mouth in a prayer gesture rendered comical by his cast. ‘Fuck…’

Peter heard a twig snap. He turned around and saw Bruce walking over to them, May behind him.

‘Please don’t tell them!’ he whispered urgently after a double-take.

‘Of course not, I’m not insane!’ Happy hissed.

‘Everything alright here?’ Bruce asked.

‘Yeah. Had a little talk about… Beck’, Happy replied.

Bruce nodded, but he was still frowning, his eyes going back and forth between the two of them.

Happy caught Peter by the shoulder a few minutes later when he was going to the bathroom. He handed him a new phone.

‘Here. Call Ned and MJ. You’re not the only one freaking out right now.’

He called Ned first. His friend sounded so relieved to finally be able to speak to him, but Peter instantly knew he wasn’t okay as soon as he started to talk about himself.

‘I’m totally fine. I’m with my mom eating some fancy food in that crazy place with the _Avengers_. Of course I’m okay! Don’t worry for me, this is so cool. This is more than awesome for us, Peter, don’t worry.’

The tone in which he said all that was off. The real Ned would have been way more excited if he was okay, maybe even unable not to outright shout, or he would have been whispering excitedly a hundred miles per hour into his phone. This Ned was too calm, too collected. He had probably been briefed beforehand. He didn’t want Peter to worry, but he was a bad actor.

Peter stared at his phone alone in the unfamiliar bedroom after they hung up. He had to call MJ now. He started crying again, but softly this time. It seemed he couldn’t stop crying these days… He didn’t want to hurt her, but there was no other way.

She burst into tears when he broke up with her, and they just cried together on the phone.

‘I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…’

‘Please… please, Peter… I love you…’

I love you too, he thought, but he didn’t say it. He didn’t say it even if it was true. Yes, he truly loved her. It was another kind of love than the one he felt for Mr. Stark, but it didn’t make it any less real. He couldn’t think, but he knew at least that: saying it back would complicate things even more. He had to protect her from his crazy life, he just had to. He couldn’t hurt her again. Oh how his exciting, carefree days as a naive Spider-Man seemed so long ago now! He listened to her sobs for a while before he abruptly hung up. It was such a rude and cruel thing to do, but all the better... all the better if she grew to resent him... She would move on faster. He had to do the same thing with Ned… shove him away. He would be completely alone then, except for May; May whom he would hurt over and over again. Maybe she would die because of him one day. He cried harder.

Happy was going to leave for Upstate New York very soon. Peter asked him if he could have one of the little guest cottages instead of a room in the manor. The Head of Security initially refused, but then Bruce intervened. A debate ensued between the three adults. Peter would be close anyway and this wasn’t a prison. May looked up at the green giant worriedly but Bruce had good arguments. The kid couldn’t sleep in the house, why force him to stay there? If Happy was scared he might do something stupid like running away, why not use one of those electronic tags they put around people’s ankles in rehab, people who needed to be watched and cared for until it was absolutely clear they were okay?

‘Like a prisoner…’ May muttered, a bit shocked by the suggestion.

‘That’s actually a pretty good idea. He’s… he needs to be watched right now...’, Happy pointed out. ‘But the tag needs to be in vibranium… and he needs to consent to this…’

Bruce nodded.

Peter surprised everyone when he instantly accepted the deal. A Stark Industries employee came to Rappahannock to give them the device. He stared at the vibranium tag as Happy was adjusting it around his left ankle, his foot propped up against a table as he was sitting on a chair, May, Bruce and Charlie standing behind him, silently assisting to the strange ceremony. Peter felt weird but relieved. He had his own place for the entire summer where he could be alone. He needed to be alone; but he didn’t entirely trust himself right now... This was good. May was resting a hand on his shoulder. Banner was looking down at the device with a frown, but Peter didn’t feel trapped or oppressed by the thing at all. They were all taking care of him. His chest was already warm when Charlie brought him another cup of tea.

‘It’s a bit hot outside for a cup of tea, Charlie, don’t you think?’ May said, smiling.

‘Oh, tea is for all weathers!’, the old fellow chanted in his pleasant Scottish voice. ‘I know what the boy needs and what he needs right now is a good old cup of tea and a game of chess. D’you know how to play, son?’

‘Y—yes.’

‘There’s a good lad! Excuse me, miss… Here, enjoy this strong black tea from my hometown.’

‘What’s your hometown?’ May asked.

‘Why, Edinburgh! Most beautiful city on earth!’ Charlie exclaimed. ‘The weather is much nicer around here, though.’

And so began Peter’s real vacation that summer.

He quickly settled into a daily routine. Every morning he would get up around seven and go straight for a run with Bruce trailing far behind him. Again, instead of feeling oppressed by his constant presence, he felt oddly reassured every time he turned around and saw his tiny frame waving at him across the hundreds of feet separating them. He became quite close with the green giant, both men quietly sharing the burden of being too different, too strong for normal human beings. He was so nice too and made great sandwiches. Peter always had breakfast with him and May after his morning runs and they occasionally went hiking all together. They all had lunch together too. Every afternoon after Charlie’s nap, Peter would play chess with the old caretaker, sipping icy lemonade in the hot summer air.

‘Oh, you can play alright!’ Charlie chanted when Peter sacrificed a rook for the first time. Bruce would often watch them, studying their game in silence, Peter and Charlie explaining the different possible moves to him, and he even played with Peter a couple of times, but he needed to learn. The three of them went over ancient recorded games and exercises taken from old chess magazines Charlie gave them on their third day in Rappahannock. ‘They all come from Tony’s personal library. He gave them to me’, the old caretaker proudly told them. The most recent issue he had was from 2003.

Peter spent a lot of time in the library after that. It took him days to scan over the hundreds and hundreds of books covering every wall there. It was clearly Mr. Stark’s space. It wasn’t a very big room but there were so many books on theoretical physics, astrophysics and astrobiology that he couldn’t count them. There was a huge portion dedicated to philosophy and history too. And then there was the literature corner, smaller but filled with gems. Peter stayed in that room alone for hours on end after his chess games with Charlie, so happy and curious to find out about the intellectual and literary tastes of the man he loved. After the first week he started to occasionally miss dinner, May then quietly walking up to the library to hand him a plate, kissing his cheek without a word while he was reading in Mr. Stark’s armchair. He particularly focused on the books his mentor had annotated — the ones that were marked with his elegant hand-writing giving him a glimpse into the genius’s thought processes. He couldn’t read any books about physics or space though, even if they were by far the ones with the most annotations. He focused on literature, history and philosophy instead. Most of Mr. Stark’s annotations in these books were those of a student diligently studying the works of great thinkers, and Peter could have bet they were decades old. But then there were the ones that corresponded more to the man he knew. Words written fast, even carelessly, and often seeping with sarcasm. A few of them made him laugh out loud.

Aristotle’s _Parva Naturalia_, and especially its last chapter entitled “On Youth, Old Age, Life and Death, and Respiration” —Peter snickered at the unexpected last word— was covered in little annotations which were pure gold in context. They often consisted in a single word like ‘_really_?’, ‘_nice_…’, ‘_hilarious_’ or Peter’s personal favorite, ‘_duh_’, right next to Aristotle’s ancient demonstrations. Some comments were a little more developed, such as ‘_oh boy_…’ , ‘_wish I could smoke what you were having_’ or the killer ‘_wish I could have figured it out myself_’ scribbled next to a completely wrong assumption made by the Greek philosopher. Some other passages were marked because of their brilliance though, and Mr. Stark had occasionally written the words ‘_interesting_’ and ‘_yes_’, and he had even scribbled ‘_shit...’_ next to a chillingly logical paragraph on the different kinds of deaths. ‘_THIS_’ was written next to another one on man’s crippling fear of death and decay — completely natural processes, Aristotle pointed out while still partially dismissing Stoicism as being too simplistic when it came to death. Man’s fear of death couldn’t be escaped, however disciplined and rational our species could be, he argued. Peter abruptly closed the book after reading the paragraph. He was about to succumb to another panic attack, the Dali painting suddenly there in his face —huge, oppressive, inescapable— when he looked down at the open book still in his lap and spotted the big fat hand-writing of his idol on the very last page. Mr. Stark had simply scrawled ‘_YOU TRIED_’ in huge letters over the printed text as a final verdict. And so Peter burst out laughing instead of bursting into tears.

He found it on his eleventh day in Rappahannock.

It had been waiting for him in the top left-hand corner of the southern wall of the library where some forgotten history books stood crammed against one another. He hadn’t explored that corner yet. The book was rather large and white. It was entitled _Hadrian, A Restless Emperor_, and had quite the boring, minimalistic cover. Peter opened it curiously and saw that it had been published in 1997. It looked like it had been read a lot, the pages resting loosely against each other compared with other books. When he tilted the book down to turn to the next page, a rigid paper fell from it, flying against his pants and onto the dark red carpet, face down. A photograph. Peter squatted, reached out to pick it up but then froze, his heart skipping a beat. On it were the letters and numbers of a date written in orange ink. It was May’s color of choice for labeling printed photographs. It was her handwriting.

_ December 12, 2017. _

He stared at the orange date for a few more seconds before slowly turning it over.

It was a picture of himself.

It had been taken eight months ago and five years ago at the same time. He was smiling brightly at the camera, wearing a big black coat. He instantly recognized the picture. It was a portrait of him May had taken in Rockefeller Center. He was standing in front of the huge Christmas tree that was put there every year. He was sixteen and blissfully unaware that he was going to die in a few weeks. He remembered the texts Mr. Stark and he used to send each other every week back then.

He was a different person now. He was the same age, and yet he wasn’t. He was still a kid and yet he wasn’t anymore.

Peter was on the floor now, his eyes glued to the photograph. His grip on it was eerily distorting the beaming, innocent face of his younger self. He suddenly remembered May crying over the loss of all of their family photos and souvenirs before Happy had informed her they had been safely stored somewhere during the five-year gap. It had been _him_. _He_ had kept all of their stuff. _He_ had stored them even though they had been dead. Had he known back then that he could bring them back? That he could bring everyone back with his genius? He had taken that picture of him from one of May’s handcrafted photo albums. He had kept it here, in the library of one of his holiday homes, hidden in a book for him to look at whenever he felt like it. Or had he just forgotten it there? How many pictures of him had he taken like that? Were there more hidden in this library? In his other homes? He pictured Mr. Stark here alone in the middle of the night, looking at that portrait of him when Pepper and Morgan were sound asleep upstairs.

_ ‘I mourned you for five years, you know?’ _

Five years… Five years ago, snap aside, Peter had been eleven years old. It seemed like a century ago. He couldn’t imagine what Tony had gone through…

Tony…

_ ‘Tony!’ _

‘Shut up!’ he whispered angrily to himself and Beck at the same time. He quickly looked over at the closed door, hoping no-one had heard him. He must have sounded like a mad man, snapping at himself like that.

He took his phone out.

From Peter to Happy, 7:32pm: Give me his phone number.

He looked back at the photograph of his younger self, and then at the book. Why that book? Had it been random? Knowing Mr. Stark, the hypothesis wasn’t very likely. He grabbed it and looked at the cover again standing up.

It was a history book on the life of the Roman Emperor Hadrian. Peter took it to bed with him in his little cottage, skipping dinner, and read it in its entirety during the night. There were no annotations in it, none, but then he reached _the_ chapter. Peter stared at its title for a long time.

“An emperor in love”

The corner of that page had clearly been intentionally folded and then smoothed out again. It had been marked. He began reading it holding his breath. The more he read, the more emotional he got, until he was crying his eyes out, lying in bed alone in his mezzanine under the roof of the cottage, but this time, oh this time, he wasn’t crying out of anguish or fear or despair, he was crying out of pure emotion and love.

The middle-aged emperor Hadrian had taken a boy called Antinoüs under his wing during a trip to Claudiopolis, now in modern Turkey, sometime between 123 and 124 A.D. He had become his mentor, teaching him about science and philosophy, until the two had fallen madly in love with each other. Antinoüs had died a few years later when he was still a teenager. Hadrian’s grief was so deep and intense that he erected hundreds of statues of his dead lover, named a city after him, and even signed decrees ordering his instant deification. And so the boy he loved became a God, and holidays and rituals dedicated to Antinoüs spread across the thousands of miles forming the colossal Roman Empire, from Jordan to Britain.

Peter stared at a photograph of one of those statues. Antinoüs remained famous to this day for his exceptional beauty and the deep, passionate love his powerful mentor had had for him. He looked at the photograph of himself again. It had been in that book marking that chapter, he was sure of it. He fell asleep feeling even more in love with Tony Stark than he had known physically possible.

He was woken up by his phone loudly vibrating on the nightstand. It was 11:12am, almost lunch time. They had let him sleep in.

He had received a text.

**From Unknown, 11:12am: Here is my phone number, Mr. Parker.**

Peter let out a breathy laugh full of emotion. He saved the new number and didn’t hesitate when he had to enter the contact name.

_Tony_, he slowly typed.

He didn’t hesitate either when he wrote the text to Tony, his heart beating fast, his chest bursting with deep love for the older man.

To Tony, 11:17am: Am I your Antinous?

Tony was taking a walk in the woods with four other people next to the anti-suicide facility. Aaron —that was the name of the tall hot jock of a nurse following him everywhere— barely managed to grab his remaining arm when he lost his balance, almost missing the ground with his cane.

‘Tony? What is it, Tony?’

‘Oh my god, is he having a heart attack?’

‘Tony, breathe!’

‘Check his pulse!’

‘What’s happening, Tony?’

‘He was looking at his phone!’

‘Where is it?’

‘In his hand, Richard…’

‘Oh…’

‘Tony? Hey, what is it? Talk to me.’

‘Look at his phone! Might be some bad news!’

‘It’s… it’s weird… I think it’s password-protected.’

They all froze when Tony started laughing.

‘I’m okay’, he managed to say after a while.

‘Right…’

‘Your heart is beating like crazy, are you sure you’re okay? What happened, Tony?’

‘Nothing… just… got a little shock…’

‘A little shock? You looked like you were having a heart attack!’

He replied to Peter a few hours later, finally alone in his suite after an endless and both literal and metaphorical poker game.

**To Peter, 3:12pm: No.**

Peter was playing chess with Charlie. He didn’t see the text until the sun had already set, after a long hike with May and Bruce along the Rappahannock River followed by a delicious barbecue in the sweet summer sunset air. His discovery in the library the previous day had been a revelation. The older man was deeply in love with him. He was obsessed with him. He calmly read Tony’s reply with a newfound confidence and only replied to him after everyone had gone to bed and he was back alone in his cottage.

From Peter, 10:42pm: That’s right. I’m not dead anymore.

Tony huffed at his boldness and then smiled. He wasn’t angry. It was the first time in his entire life that he didn’t react violently to his most intimate, private self being suddenly dug out by somebody. That book, that photograph, that fantasy had been his secrets. They had played a crucial part in his mourning process. He had had no idea that Peter was in Rappahannock. They hadn’t told him. And Peter had found it… He had found the book… _Why am I not freaking out?_

Peter let out a little moan of surprise when his phone buzzed with an incoming call. He stared at the four letters on the screen of his phone. 

_Tony_

He waited too long to pick up. The call went to voicemail. He waited for Tony to call him again but he didn’t. He took a deep breath and called him himself.

When Tony picked up he had a flashback of the night he had received that fateful text from Peter, the boy’s heavy breathing hitting his ears in the exact same way, although he wasn’t crying this time. He had put his Stark glasses on, the sound crystal-clear as if Peter was still in bed with him, right next to him, just like that morning in the penthouse. Neither of them spoke for a while until Tony starting chuckling.

‘Why are you laughing?’ Peter asked in a soft voice.

Tony closed his eyes. _That voice…_

‘They didn’t tell me you were staying in Rappahannock.’

Peter closed his eyes too as soon as he heard him. Simply hearing each other’s voices had a powerful effect on both of them, spreading liquid warmth in their veins.

‘Rappahannock…’ Peter dreamily repeated. ‘I love the name...’

Tony smiled, eyes still closed. ‘I take it you’re okay… Are you okay?’

‘I don’t really know…’

_His voice, his voice…_, they were both thinking at the same time.

‘Why didn’t they tell you where I was?’

‘Why do you think… It was my wife’s idea, to hide you there… did you know that?’

‘No.’

‘She’s quite something.’

Peter didn’t reply.

‘She’s leaving me’, Tony suddenly revealed.

‘Wh—what?’

‘Yeah… We’re… taking a break’, he bitterly said.

‘I’m sorry…’

‘Not your fault, kid. It’s all on me.’

No, it’s not, Peter thought, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t know what to say. They stayed quiet for a long time.

‘So… you found it… the book… the picture…’ Tony started.

‘Yeah…’

‘Must’ve been a bit of a shock.’

‘A bit, yeah.’

‘It didn’t freak you out?’

‘No.’

‘You’re not weirded out?’ Tony insisted, not fully believing him.

‘No.’

‘Why not? It’s pretty creepy...’

‘I—I don’t think so.’

‘What d’you think then?’

_I want you, God, I want you_, they both thought. Peter hesitated but then just said: ‘I think it’s beautiful.’

He heard Tony sigh. _You’re beautiful_, the older man mouthed but didn’t fully say.

Peter’s eyes were still closed and they hurt. The words slipped out of his mouth naturally.

‘I love you.’

Tony took them like a caress, but he didn’t say anything back. They were reduced to silence yet again.

‘I wanna see you’, Peter ended up whispering with longing.

‘Pete…’

‘Please. Please, I need to see you.’

‘We can’t…’

‘Please… Tony…’

_God_… The way he whispered his name… Tony’s chest was fluttering in a way it had never had.

‘I can’t… I’m stuck in rehab.’

‘Oh. For how long?’

‘I don’t know… depends....’

‘On what?’

‘If I escape again or not’, Tony said a little louder. His message was clear.

‘Talk to me then... Keep talking to me... Your voice… I love your voice… I love you…’ Peter murmured in a milky voice.

Tony was hard now. Peter too.

‘I would’ve turned you into a deity too, you know…’ Tony said, before chuckling at his own corny words. Peter didn’t laugh along with him, though.

‘I want you…’ he said.

Tony softly gasped, his eyes closing again. Both of them were breathing hard from desire alone now. ‘I’m gonna hang up, okay?’ he told Peter.

‘No! Please, don’t… Please…’

‘This is wrong’, Tony whispered.

‘Who cares?’ Peter boldly replied.

‘I care…’, he said sadly, ‘I’m a 53 year-old pervert preying on a 16 year-old. I do care, Peter.’

‘That’s not true, you’re not a pervert. You’re not preying on me.’

‘Yes, I am; I very much am. And you’re being a delusion—’

‘Shut up!’

Tony instantly did.

‘Am I your Antinoüs?’, Peter asked again, longingly.

‘Antinoüs’, Tony corrected his wrong pronunciation, ruining the seductive momentum.

‘Antinoüs’, Peter repeated correctly this time, faintly laughing.

‘You said it. You’re not dead anymore.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Peter…’

‘Tony…’ Peter’s breathing stuttered as soon as his name fell from his lips. That fucking memory wouldn’t leave him alone; it kept tormenting him every time he said it out loud, even when he was only _thinking_ it… ‘He spied on me… Beck’, he suddenly confessed.

Tony’s eyes opened at that. ‘Tell me what he did to you...’

‘He… he tortured me… I got hit by a train.’

Tony marked a pause.

‘What d’you mean he tortured you? You mean… with the train?’ _This conversation is surreal_, Tony thought.

‘No… I mean, yeah… that hurt the most… physically… But he— he— with you… with my uncle…’ Peter chocked up. ‘He spied on me when I… while I…’

‘When you what…’ Tony asked, dread rising in his chest.

‘When… you know… when I…’

_No, not that… Fuck, not that…_

‘When you what, Pete…’

‘…did that’, Peter just said, the big sob escaping his mouth right afterwards leaving no room for doubt. ‘I said your name…’

Tony sat up in bed. _Jesus Christ_.

‘Peter…’

‘I can’t say your name now without thinking about what he did to me… I can’t say your name…’

‘I’m gonna kill him.’

‘What?’

‘I should’ve killed that motherfucker already.’

‘No’, Peter snapped in a much deeper voice, loudly and firmly. Tony froze. ‘You’re not gonna kill anyone. You’re not a murderer.’

‘If there’s anything I’m not, it surely ain’t that, kid...’

‘Don’t call me _kid_ ever again’, Peter commanded.

Tony was left speechless, but not for long. ‘Then don’t be as naive as one. I _am_ a murderer. I’ve killed thousands.’

‘Not directly.’

‘Doesn’t change anything.’

‘It _does_.’

‘No, it doesn’t. Did Hitler kill any Jews himself? Not to mention I did kill myself... several times.’

Peter was stunned. ‘Did you just compare yourself to Hitler?’

‘Not that far of a stretch. Not so dissimilar facial hair...’

‘Stop joking! You almost died saving half of the _entire_ _universe_ and you’re calling yourself a mass murderer?’

‘Why can’t I be both? Reality’s a complex bitch, _kid_’, he replied, clearly emphasizing the last word.

Peter ignored him. ‘You really wanna hate yourself, don’t you?’

‘I’m just stating the truth.’

‘The truth… what a stupid word… Beck was as obsessed as you about it…’

‘What? You think the word truth is a stupid word?’

‘I think your view of it is simplistic.’

‘What’s simplistic about verified facts? And I thought you were a little scientist…’

‘Calling yourself a murderer isn’t stating verified facts—’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘It’s a distortion of actual events to fit the twisted view you have of yourself!’

‘I basically armed the Talibans for years. How’s that for actual proof?’

‘It was years ago…’

‘See? Now you’re having doubts about it. Time doesn’t erase anything, _kid_. I win.’

‘You weren’t aware of the consequences…’

‘I was perfectly aware that my _weapons_, designed to _kill_, would perhaps end up actually _killing_ people after _I_ made sure they were bought by _actual_ _murderers_’, Tony went on, the chilling sarcasm making Peter shudder.

‘And then you changed… you stopped manufacturing weapons… you financed the Avengers… you saved the world.’

‘Of course. I’m perfect.’

‘Yes. Yes, you are.’

‘And you don’t want me to call you a kid?’ Tony scoffed.

‘I don’t care… call me whatever you want…’

‘How ‘bout Barbara?’

Peter huffed a little laugh. Another stretch of silence went by until Tony broke it, sending them back into forbidden territory with his tone alone.

‘You can call me however you like too’, he said very gently.

‘I’ll call you Hadrian’, Peter replied, his voice like honey, making Tony squeeze his eyes shut in a pained expression. When he didn’t say anything back, Peter asked what clearly wasn’t an innocent question with the most innocent tone he could muster: ‘Are you in bed right now?’

‘Barb, don’t…’

‘I really hope this isn’t going to turn into a regular joke because this is _awful_.’

Tony chuckled. ‘I am certainly not going to have phone sex with you right now, you little brat. This phone call is fucked up enough as it is.’

‘I had sex you know…’ Peter suddenly said, and Tony froze. ‘Didn’t go well… Maybe… maybe I can’t… Maybe phone sex is all I’ll ever have…’

_Oh my fucking god._

‘Look at you, getting all dramatic’, Tony teased, trying to diffuse the tension.

‘Fuck you! I’m being serious!’

‘Oh, I’m sure you are.’

‘Why are you… why are you so _mean_?’

‘Barb…’

But Peter was crying now. Humor wasn’t working for this. _Shit_.

‘I’m sorry… I’m a jerk... Listen… you had a bad experience, I get that, but it was your first time, right? And—’

‘Don’t you fucking tell me first times always suck, I’ve heard that enough as it is, thank you very much’, he inhaled sharply. ‘I’m too strong. I hurt her. I keep hurting everyone… I know I can’t… I won’t… I can’t…’

‘Can’t what?’

‘You know…’

‘No, tell me.’

‘No.’

There was a pause and then…

‘_I_ can’, Tony whispered.

Peter stopped breathing for a few seconds. ‘You— what?’

‘Nothing.’

‘No! What did you say? Please!’

‘I can…’ Tony didn’t finish. Peter waited. ‘We could... if you want…’

‘What? On the phone? Now?’ Peter said in a really high voice.

‘No… I mean… yeah… Christ, what am I saying? Bye, kid.’

‘No, don’t hang up, don’t hang up!’

Tony did hang up. Peter tried to call him again, in vain.

_Oh my god..._

He was about to fall asleep, his mind still filled with the voice of the man he loved, a hand resting on the book about Hadrian next to his pillow, when he received _the_ text.

He resisted the urge to scream.

**From Tony, 11:16pm: I’m coming over. Don’t tell anyone. Duh.**

He read the message several times before he couldn’t control himself any longer; he buried his face into his pillow and actually shrieked like a girl. He then jumped to his feet and almost knocked over the pretty expensive lamp on his nightstand.

_ Shit! I have to be discreet! _

To Tony, 11:20pm: My aunt is here! Bruce Banner is here! What if they see you? I’m wearing a tag, I can’t go out!

**From Tony, 11:20pm: Shit**

To Tony, 11:21pm: I’m staying in one of the guest cottages though. They’re all sleeping in the manor.

**From Tony, 11:21pm: Which one?**

To Tony, 11:21pm: The one with the front steps.

**From Tony, 11:21pm: Ok**

To Tony, 11:22pm: But what if they do see you? And you can’t escape again!

**From Tony, 11:22pm: Fuck everyone I need to see you right now**

‘Ooooh my god!’ Peter groaned.

**From Tony, 11:22pm: Don’t get any ideas, though.**

A few weeks ago, he would’ve taken it at face value. Now, he just chuckled, confidence and adrenaline sipping through his swiftly-typing albeit shaky fingers.

To Tony, 11:25pm: We’ll see about that.

**From Tony, 11:26pm: You’re being unreasonable**

**From Tony, 11:26pm: K**

**From Tony, 11:26pm: I**

**From Tony, 11:26pm: D**

**From Tony, 11:26pm: I’m OLD.**

Peter had to re-type many words of his next message because he was trembling too much.

To Tony, 11:27pm: I’ve seen you naked and I liked what I saw.

**From Tony, 11:30pm: This is a bad idea.**

To Tony, 11:30pm: Like time travel. What a terrible, terrible idea. What were you thinking?

**From Tony, 11:33pm: I’ll send you a text when I get there. 30m max.**

Peter didn’t reply. This was happening. His first instinct was to hide under his bed sheet like a child. He tossed and turned thinking of the crazy possibilities that were minutes away from maybe actually happening. And then he stood up again and rushed down the small and narrow spiral staircase of his little cottage.

He ended up pacing across the living room like a mad man for ten long minutes.

What if he changed his mind and didn’t come? What if he came and freaked out again? What if he freaked out before reaching Rappahannock and crashed onto the ground? What if he really killed himself this time? What if he committed suicide because of him?

_Oh my god, he’s suicidal because of me and I make him escape again! And he’s still weak! _ _ It’ll be my fault if anything happens to him! Oh my god, what have I done? _

He stopped pacing when he realized it could alert Bruce that something was wrong. He sat down on a chair, his nerves making his right foot bounce off the floor in a stressful rhythmic patter. He tried ripping the tag apart but his fingers were shaking too much. He abruptly dashed to his little bathroom. He took his clothes off, stepped into the shower and began scrubbing himself in a panic with the almond shower gel Charlie had given him. He suddenly froze. Should he wash himself down there too, just in case? He gulped, shaking like a leaf. What if Mr. Stark expected him to do _that_ with him tonight? What if he asked him to? Peter knew he wouldn’t refuse. He knew he would consent to everything Mr. Stark wanted to do to him. Yes, he would do _anything_ for him. Anything, even if it hurt. He brought his middle finger to his ass but he was shaking too much. He fucking couldn’t stop shaking. What if Mr. Stark wanted to do it and he was filthy down there? How did one clean oneself _there_? With shower gel, like this? Most likely not. With some special gel for… for… _insides_? He was shivering all over. He tried pushing his finger in and managed to do it a little but it felt too weird, too wrong. He began to outright panic.

_ Does it mean I’m not really bi if I don’t wanna do this? That my love for him is just platonic? But no, that doesn’t make any sense, I want him! I love him! But… but what if I can’t do_ that?_ Do all gay people like anal sex? Do some of them hate it? What if he wants to and I just can’t? It’s too weird, I can’t… I can’t… It’s wrong! _

_ It’s disgusting! _

He tentatively brought his finger to his nose and sure enough, it smelled like shit.

_ What the fuck did you expect? You just put your finger up your own ass! _

He pictured Flash laughing hard at that. _‘Come on, Parker! Just accept yourself, you’re gay! You’re just gay! No big deal!’_

He vigorously soaped himself all over again, checking several times that his finger didn’t smell like shit anymore, and stumbled out of the shower before grabbing his toothbrush, his heart pounding wildly.

_ I can’t do this. I can’t do this, _he thought, brushing his teeth for the second time that night.

And he was the one who had been seducing him! What an irresponsible, thoughtless idiot he was! Mr. Stark was going to be so disappointed… He’d been right, he _was_ a kid. He wasn’t ready for this.

And what if he hurt him like he hurt MJ?

He rushed upstairs, put on a clean T-shirt and some cotton shorts. A mosquito buzzed past his ear and he killed it in a nanosecond. He forced himself to take deep breaths. Could Spider-Man have a heart attack? His phone loudly buzzed downstairs and his heart stopped. So soon? He nearly fell down the spiral staircase.

**From Tony, 11:59pm: I’m here**

He had no time left to prepare himself. No time. Oh god, there was no time. He was here. It was happening right now. He squeezed his eyes shut, panting out of sheer stress before the closed front door, trying to calm himself down. In and out, in and out.

The door suddenly flew open. Tony hadn’t knocked.

It was almost too much to see him suddenly here, here in front of him, to suddenly _be with him._

_ This is it. _

Tony instantly closed the door very carefully behind him, but then he didn’t turn around. He just stayed there frozen, his back to Peter, his eyes glued to the door frame, his left hand stuck on the doorknob, and Peter realized he was just as nervous as he was.

He was shaking all over, just like him.

‘This is a bad idea’, he said again, but this time in his voice, Mr. Stark’s voice, because he was right there, right there in front of him, and his voice was quavering in a way it hadn’t even been when facing Thanos.

Peter’s paralyzing fear melted in an instant. He stepped forward, pulled at Mr. Stark’s shoulder to turn him around and hugged him hard, unable to control his own strength, knocking him against the door. Tony let out a shocked, shaky gasp, and then he was laughing breathily against his neck.

‘Careful, there, Spider-Man’, he said, smiling. ‘Are your teeth _chattering_?’ he then asked, amused.

Yes. Yes, they were.

Peter didn’t let go of him. ‘Am I hurting you?’ he asked in a small voice full of emotion.

‘Only a tiny bit’, Tony said.

Peter stepped back and their eyes met. Neither of them was able to completely believe that this was truly happening. They were mirrors of each other — slightly frowning, eyes watering, breath stuttering, and their shaking hands were gripping each other’s forearms, except for Tony’s very still vibranium one. Both pairs of dark eyes travelled to their lover’s mouth several times before going up again, boring into each other, and then Peter was the first to move. His lips collided with a stubbly cheek. Tony had turned his face away.

‘No...’ the older man huffed, tearing his arms away, and it sounded vulnerable, almost like begging. He walked past Peter into the small living room. ‘Shit… Shit… Shit!’ he repeated, the last one in a high, breathy voice. He wasn’t as nervous as Peter was. No, he was _more_ nervous than him. He was freaking out. Peter closed the distance between them and took him in his arms again, gentler this time, slightly swaying him for a few seconds.

Tony moaned.

‘God, yes hold me...’ he whispered. Peter burst into tears, the memories of the battlefield and of his own death rushing up again, too much for him to handle. Tony wasn’t as loud as him but he shed a few tears too. They just cried together in each other’s arms for a while. ‘Don’t stop… don’t stop holding me...’, Tony whispered again. It soon turned into more. Peter felt pleasure softly radiating from his body where it was pressed against Tony’s.

‘Ah! Not that hard!’, Tony suddenly hissed, pain clearly in his voice.

_ There. I hurt him. I’ll hurt him too. I can’t have him. I can’t have anyone. _

This was the final straw. Peter lost it.

He abruptly stumbled back, tearing himself away from Tony, his back hitting a narrow column of the kitchen counter. His eyes were looking down in horror, his hands on either side of his head —exactly like the creepy figure in that famous Edvard Munch painting, Tony thought before acting on instinct, instantly understanding what Peter needed the most right now: matching strength. Without any warning he triggered his Iron Suit on up to his neck, grabbed him, tripped him, and sent him to the floor with his own super strength, effectively pinning the all powerful Spider-Man down. The young superhero looked up at him completely in shock.

‘I’m strong too, remember?’ Tony managed to say through what looked like sudden pain. His Suit disappeared as quickly as it had wrapped around his body. He was above Peter. Peter was under him. They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment, the memory of Peter’s death creeping on them the more they stayed in that position.

‘You okay?’

Peter nodded, frowning. ‘You?’

‘Your head hit the floor pretty hard, you sure?’

‘Yeah…’ Peter breathed. Tony hadn’t answered him.

‘Shit, they might’ve heard you…’ Tony slowly said, now obviously in pain and entranced by the memory. It was too much, but they managed to keep it together, until Peter accidentally said the words.

‘I’m sorry’, Peter replied before he realized what he’d just done.

Tony’s face scrunched up in pain, not trying to hide it anymore, and he moved away from Peter, dropping back against the counter next to Peter’s legs.

‘Oh God, I’m so stupid, I’m such an idiot, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark, I mean, shit! Oh, god… I— I didn’t mean… I— I knew you… you… this looked like… like…’

Tony was laughing.

‘Why are you _laughing_?’ Peter exclaimed, both outraged and relieved.

‘You’re cute’, Tony muttered, a single tear leaving a wet trail on the dark pink skin of the scarred right side of his face. Peter froze. _Mr. Stark is crying_. The sight deeply moved him. He didn't think.

‘Hey, hey, hey, what d’you think you’re doing?’ Tony exclaimed as Peter's face was suddenly inches from his own.

‘Kissing you.’

‘Nope!’ Tony said, moving away and attempting to stand up.

‘Where’s your cane?’

‘Where’s your_ diaper?’_

‘What?’ Peter said, stunned.

‘_Where’s your cane_... Jesus…’

‘You told me you had a cane now!’

‘I do! No need to rub it in my face!’

‘So… where is it?’

‘I didn’t bring it, obviously!’

‘Obviously?’

‘Yes, obviously!’

‘Why?’

‘Because I didn’t want you to see me with it!’

Peter froze in an adorable expression that clearly meant: _What the fuck?_ ‘I told you House was hot’, he argued, his eyes widening to emphasize the words.

‘What? Oh shut up.’

Tony was on all fours, trying to stand up with a grunt. He obviously didn’t tell Peter that the sudden pain he felt had most likely been caused by his hugs. His Iron Suit had somehow made it worse, forcing his chest upright and causing searing pain on its right side. His age and his weakness struck Peter more than ever, but instead of hindering his love, it made it grow even more.

‘Why don’t you use your suit?’

‘Hurts…’ Tony just said.

‘What?’

‘Hurt myself with it on my way here’, he lied, ‘nothing serious... Hey! Psshh!’ he shooed him away like a cat. ‘I don’t need your help!’

‘Yes, you obviously do.’

‘No, I don’t’, he repeated, painfully but successfully lifting himself up. ‘See?’

‘Yeah, ‘cause that was way easier than me just putting you back on your feet in a second!’

‘It only would have cost me my dignity, but I guess that’s okay!’

‘You already think you’re just like Hitler, how low can it get?’

Tony huffed. ‘I never said I was _just like_ Hitler.’

‘Yes, you did!’

‘No, I did not!’

‘Yes, you did!’

‘Brat!’

‘Jerk!’

_‘Kid!’_

_‘Grandpa!’_

‘Barbara!’

Peter burst out laughing. Tony watched him, softly chuckling. They stared at each other for the third time. Their smiles soon fell, love and desire spiking up so suddenly and so intensely that it left both of them scared again, but for different reasons. Tony lifted a finger at Peter, turning around at the same time.

‘I’m warning you: no sex tonight. Daddy’s not in the mood.’

Peter nearly fainted.

‘Good. I’m too scared anyway’, he said in a shaky voice.

Tony did a double-take. ‘Scared?’

‘Yeah…’

‘Of your own strength…’

‘Y—yes but…not… not only’, Peter stammered.

‘Of me?’ Tony whispered after a pause.

‘No... of… sex… I guess…’ he mumbled.

Tony limped to the couch and let himself fall on it, wrapping his vibranium arm around his stomach and resting his left elbow on it before covering his face with his left hand.

‘It’s perfectly normal to be scared on your first time…’, he muttered in a deep, tired voice. ‘What’s completely _abnormal_ however is us wanting to do it in the first place...’

Peter didn’t know what to say to that. They stayed in dreadful silence for a full minute, him standing next to the couch and Tony sitting on it, his face down and covered by his hand, until the younger man eventually found something to say.

‘D’you… d’you want something to drink?’ he awkwardly asked. ‘I can make tea.’

Tony didn’t scoff at that. He simply lifted his face from his hand and smiled fondly at the window in front of him with sad eyes. ‘Tea would be nice.’

Peter stepped around the kitchen counter and grabbed the electric kettle. He was going to fill it with water from the sink but when he opened it, the lid stayed in his hand.

‘Shit! Oh shit, I— I broke it!’

He had just broken the fucking kettle.

‘You’re like the Mr. Bean of superheroes’, Tony called out.

‘That’s not funny!’

‘I beg to differ.’

‘It’s— it’s whenever I get nervous, I— I can’t control myself properly and I— this happens a lot now… more and more often… it’s like… either I’m getting stronger or I’m getting more nervous or… or both… I can’t control my own strength… I can’t buckle up without breaking the seatbelt now and every time I—’

Peter shut up. Tony was right next to him, his metal arm brushing against his. He stepped past him to his left and casually started to prepare the cups of tea himself, retrieving a little saucepan from a cupboard, filling it with water from the sink and then putting it on the stove before taking out a couple of mugs from another cupboard above Peter’s head. The vibranium arm brushed against his hair this time, Peter was clearly standing in the way, but he didn’t move as Tony reached for the door of the same cupboard again a few seconds later to retrieve the little box of tea bags he knew was there too. He relished the feeling of his hair being brushed by Tony like that and closed his eyes, enjoying the fleeting contact, but this time, the hand didn’t go away. It rested against the top of his head for a moment before a couple of fingertips very slowly traveled down behind his left ear, and then down his neck, giving Peter tingles. He opened his eyes when the hand was gone and he saw Tony watching him, a pained expression on his face.

Their first kiss was over too quickly.

Looking back, neither of them could remember who had leaned in first. A mere five seconds later, Peter even wondered if he had imagined it. It was just a peck, sweet and affectionate, but Peter’s soft, wet lips pushed against his own had the effect of an electric shock on Tony. Before Peter could even process what had happened, the older man was already back to preparing the mugs, carefully putting them parallel next to one another, retrieving the teabags from the box after a short moment of hesitation —Moroccan mint or chamomile?—, putting a bag of chamomile tea inside each mug, being careful not to let the cord and label slip inside, dropping a sugar cube in each of them... The fingers of his left hand were trembling. Peter just watched him, watched the skin on the right side of his face both damaged by his heroic sacrifice on the battlefield and by quiet, unstoppable_ time,_ watched the profile he knew so well, the soft, sad eye of a man who hated himself, watched his wrinkles, lingered on them, and then his super strong metal hand moving so delicately to pick up a sugar cube —such a mundane task… Now more than ever, he knew that this 53 year-old man making him tea with shaky fingers after their first kiss was the love of his life. And then the great Tony Stark began washing the dishes Peter had left in the sink the previous day.

‘I love you.’

Tony stopped moving. He put the spoon he’d been washing back into the sink with a soft clink. He was sadly looking down, gripping the counter, looking desperate, scared or resigned, Peter wasn’t sure. The boy then stepped as close to his mentor as he could get, pressing his chest against his right shoulder, and he kissed his scarred skin, his cheek, his jaw, his temple, his neck, his ear, his hair, his temple again, shaky breaths escaping his nose while he kissed and kissed and kissed him, standing on tiptoes… Tony at last turned and wrapped his arms around him, slightly leaning down to bury his nose into the crook of his neck, smelling him, running his hands, robotic and human, weak and strong, along his back. Peter was growing weak from Tony’s scent alone—he wasn’t wearing any cologne, it was just him. He was hard and there was no way Tony hadn’t noticed, pressed against each other as they were.

‘Sleep with me’, Peter whispered.

‘You’re forgetting the tea!’ Tony joked in a sweet voice—his lover’s voice, Peter came to learn.

‘I don’t want tea. I want you.’

‘You should totally sell that to Beyoncé. Would make a hell of a song.’

Peter chuckled against his shoulder. He broke their hug and Tony’s lips were suddenly pressed against his own. It was another peck. But then there was another, and another, and another one, each of them closer and closer to what Peter needed. Tony lingered a few inches from his lips after his fourth urgent kiss, and their eyes were so close it felt like looking right into his soul. Tony was scared, even horrified at what he was doing. Peter remembered he was suicidal. He was suicidal because of him. He brought a hand to his face and ran his fingers into his hair above his ear.

‘It’s okay. I want you’, he whispered.

He kissed his mentor softly, holding the back of his neck, and then they both completely stopped breathing. They couldn’t even moan. Their eyes rolled back as their minds flared high with bliss in a long, long, powerful kiss.

‘It wasn’t hot per se’, Peter later told Ned. It was a closed-mouth kiss, simple and oddly old-fashioned, their lips not moving at all, like in those really old movies in black and white. It wasn’t a hot kiss. It was the kiss of two people madly in love with each other and finally letting go.

It was the kiss of a lifetime.

When their mouths finally parted, they panted into each other’s faces, Peter’s hand still grabbing Tony’s neck. The older man’s breath wasn’t foul anymore like after he had thrown up in the penthouse. No, now it was delicious, irresistible, it was getting to Peter’s head, it was making him rock-hard in his soft cotton shorts and his erection poked against his lover’s upper thigh in a very obvious way.

‘Sorry’, he breathed, ashamed.

Tony had been trying to keep his own hips away but then he kissed Peter again, and this time, oh this time Peter felt it, stiff against him… and this time Tony was moving his lips, he was brushing his tongue against his, he was moaning, he was—

_Oh God, yes!_

Peter nearly fell as Tony’s tongue entered his mouth, and the older man abruptly broke their kiss. He couldn’t completely tear himself away, however.

‘Still time’, he mumbled against his mouth, panting.

‘What?’ Peter said, panting too.

‘There’s still time’, the older man repeated more clearly.

‘What? For—for what?’

‘For you to ask me to go... for us to stop…’ he whispered.

_ Oh my god, I’ve just kissed Mr. Stark, this is Mr. Stark right here inches from me and he kissed me, **he kissed me**, we kissed, we kissed, his tongue, oh yes, his tongue inside my mouth, I can feel him, he’s hard, he’s hard against me, he's hard like me, oh my god, oh my god! Holy fucking shit, fuck yes... _

Peter planted a wet kiss on his lips and breathed into his mouth, feeling positively high, Tony’s breath and lips and tongue and saliva his drugs.

‘No… no… stay…’

They shared another one of those old-fashioned kisses, long and hard and mind-blowing, each of them bracketing their lover’s face with their hands, time coming to a still.

_ Fuck time. _

_ One Mississippi, two Mississippis, three Mississippis, four Mississippis, five Mississippis, six mississi— _

‘Oh no, no please don’t, please don’t stop…’ Peter begged, holding on to his vibranium arm as Tony suddenly stepped away, completely this time.

‘I can’t… I can’t… Jesus, I’m losing my fucking mind!’ he said, bringing his hands to his face.

‘No, no! Kiss me again! Come ‘ere…’

‘I can’t…’

‘Please…’

‘I can’t…’

_ ‘Tony…’ _

‘God…’

‘_I_ can’, Peter said, and that was Tony’s undoing.

Peter took his silver hand and pulled him towards the spiral staircase in a very clear invitation, his wet lips apart, his big brown eyes welling up with lust and emotion. Tony didn’t resist him. He couldn’t anymore. He was losing it. When Peter slowly stepped onto the staircase leading to his bedroom, pulling him with him, Tony abruptly pushed him against the curvy wooden railing, his metal arm wrapping around his back. Peter was two steps higher than him. Tony buried his face against his chest right next to his heart, his eyes closed, rubbing his nose and open mouth against the soft fabric of the T-shirt which he then pulled up with his trembling left hand. He dropped down to Peter’s stomach and started planting gentle kisses on the soft, milky skin there, Peter’s hands flying to his hair. His head was thrown back by bliss as he let out a high breathy moan. Yes, Tony was losing his damn mind. _Fuck, we_ _have to reach the bed right now or I’m gonna fuck his brains out right here on those steps_, he thought through the thick fog of lust now clouding his brain. He glanced down at the boy’s covered erection tenting the soft fabric of his shorts. That was a mistake. He wasn't wearing any underwear himself. His own erection pleasantly rubbed against his loose sweatpants as he straightened up. He couldn’t remember ever being that aroused. He took a step forward and gently pushed Peter for him to go up. Peter was still frozen in bliss. Tony smiled through his lust. ‘Move!’ he abruptly ordered, and Peter did, taken aback by the harsh tone, and then his strong ass, in those little gray cotton shorts, was right in his face, and Tony had to stop. He gripped the railing hard and it cracked under the strength of his vibranium hand.

_Fuck. What the fuck am I doing...  
_

He couldn’t move.

‘Move!’ Peter snapped at him, echoing his own voice. Tony let out an incredulous breathy laugh and then tried to, took a few steps, but a sudden searing pain in his chest made him stop again. _Shit._

Peter was soon leaning over him.

‘Are you okay? Are you… is it me? I hurt you, didn’t I?’

Tony had his eyes squeezed shut. He shook his head. It was coming from his still healing insides, like it always did. The fact that Peter had probably made it worse didn’t make it his fault. Maybe it was a supernatural sign that he had to stop right now before it was too late and he was officially an almost-pedophile. _Jesus Christ, what am I doing? What the fuck am I doing?_

What happened next shocked him to his core. With no warning whatsoever, Peter fucking _lifted_ him off the stairs like a bag of potatoes, carried him up to the mezzanine, and then dropped him as gently as he could onto his bed with a big bounce. When he saw Tony’s face, the little fucker _grinned_.

‘You just lost sex tonight’, a disheveled Tony deadpanned.

Peter laughed at that, the sound so light and joyful that it made Tony smile fondly at him and even chuckle despite the dark thoughts he’d just had. But then the fear came back. The fear and the awkwardness. Peter sat down next to him after a moment.

‘Can… can we just… sleep?’ he timidly asked in a tiny voice after a long silence. Tony closed his eyes and huffed at how fucking precious that was.

‘No, I’m gonna rape you right now’, he deadpanned once again, managing to sound both incredibly sweet and absolutely outrageous at the same time.

‘That… was a horrible joke’, Peter whispered, genuinely shocked.

Tony just shrugged, saying: ‘Still funny.’

Peter couldn’t believe he’d just cracked a rape joke.

‘Oh come on! Of course we can just sleep! You don’t owe me anything, you hear me? God, who do you think I am?’ he comically froze at his own words. ‘Okay, fair enough, but believe me when I say that whatever you may have heard about me, it was always with the full consent of all parts involved, I always made sure of that’, he said. ‘Never had a rape play go wrong’, he then fucking added.

_That_ was Tony Stark. Tony Stark matter-of-factly cracking some rape jokes with an innocent tone while sitting on _his_ bed, ready to have sex...

‘What?’ Peter asked, horrified and… interested. ‘You played… pretend-rape?’

‘Oh my god, Peter!’ Tony exclaimed in mock shock, but Peter’s own shock was real. Tony sobered up when he saw he wasn’t even smiling.

_ He’s a kid. _

_ Oh my god… _

_ What the fuck am I doing… _

_ Shit. _

_ I gotta get the fuck out of here. _

‘Look at you, so young and naive!’ he went on, still in a mocking tone, looking ahead at the wall, holding on to humor for dear life. ‘That is why…’, he began to announce, bringing his metal hand to the bed in a move to stand up, ‘…I have to get…’, he lifted his ass off the bed, ‘…the fuck…’, he grunted, slowly standing up, ‘…out of here!’

Peter pulled him back down by the shoulder as if he weighed five pounds and Tony bounced once again onto the bed like a puppet.

‘I’m serious. Sleep with me’, Peter repeated.

‘And_ that_… was totally a rapist move by the way.’

‘Stop joking.’

‘Can’t wait for your aunt to find out.’

‘I’m being serious!’, Peter repeated. ‘Set your alarm—‘

‘And leave before dawn?’ Tony interrupted him.

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s romantic.’

They shared a look. It was easier to forget their huge age difference when they weren’t directly looking at each other. When they had kissed, Tony had forgotten just how young Peter was. He looked down. He felt exhausted. All humor vanished.

‘Just sleep…’ he muttered.

‘Just sleep’, Peter confirmed, smiling, but then nervously gulped, betraying his doubts. He was the first to move. He simply pulled at his bed sheet and slipped under it, making some room for Tony to lie next to him. The older man hesitated one last time before slipping under it too. He was fully hard again in seconds. Peter had never stopped to be.

It was too hot under the bed sheet, even though the fabric was rather thin. It was July 12, after all. There was something hard under Tony’s head. He lifted his left arm above his head and grabbed it. It was the book on Hadrian. He stared at its familiar cover, letting out a shaky breath. Peter was watching him, lying on his side now. He hesitated, and then gently took the book from Tony’s hand and moved over him to put it on the nightstand and switch the lamp off. Their bodies touched, Peter’s erection pressing above Tony’s right hip in a clearly intentional move. He should’ve known the boy wasn’t all that shy. He had seen it on the very first day, in his tiny bedroom in Queens: the boldness behind the shyness. When the book was safely resting on the nightstand and the room was plunged into a perfect bluish, moonlit darkness slightly tainted by a forgotten light coming from downstairs, Peter still didn’t move. He remained pressed against Tony’s right side, his hips insistant, looking down at him with a pained look that read: _Is this okay?_

Tony stayed perfectly still, his body radiating where Peter was pressed against him, his own cock painfully hard. Peter thought his eyes looked… hopeless… but also… soft. He was admiring Peter like a painting, his sad, tender eyes traveling across his face. He kept looking back up into his eyes. The left one, the right one, the left one… Peter watched him watching him. He was the one who broke the silence.

‘What did those aliens do to you?’

‘I still can’t believe you’re alive’, Tony whispered, completely ignoring him.

Peter didn’t know what to say. He was about to apologize for his question when Tony said it.

‘Kiss me’, he pleaded very softly.

Peter slowly went down, careful not to crush him, and their lips met. Another old-fashioned kiss. The longest one yet. Peter didn’t have a lot of experience at all, but he thought it couldn’t get any better than this. It just couldn’t.

‘Careful’, Tony gently warned him after it. He had been crushing him, even when he had clearly reminded himself to be careful. He was still crushing him.

He was hurting him.

_ I can’t have him. _

He started to cry. He was dully used to it now.

‘Shh, It’s okay…’ Tony whispered against his lips.

'I want you...' Peter softly cried. 'I want you so much...'

‘Lie down... that’s it… lie down... lie down, sweetheart...’

‘Sweetheart?’ Peter repeated in a high voice. Tony’s face was now above his, his eyes filled with emotion.

‘Yes. Is it… you—you don’t like it?’ the genius stupidly said, stuttering. Where was the confidence? The sarcasm? The mocking jabs? He let out a heavy breath and Peter could suddenly smell it, his _desire_.

‘I love it’, he told him. ‘I love it… Oh, I love it so m—’

They both stopped forming any coherent thought at that instant.

In hindsight, Peter estimated that he had probably come under ten seconds — seconds of pleasure he had trouble defining. He wondered how every single person on earth who had been through that wasn’t constantly having sex. He wanted to do it again every minute of every day for the rest of his life. But he would probably die from all the pleasure, come to think of it…

It started with another long kiss followed by urgent whispers in each other’s ears as Tony lay on top of him, pressing his entire body against his.

‘God, ask me to stop… God! Please… Pete… please, make me stop…’

‘No, don’t! Oh, don’t! Don’t stop… please… please… Oh God!’

When he told Ned on the phone two days later that they hadn’t even taken their clothes off, his shocked and very concerned friend took it for a lie. Maybe it was weird, maybe it was laughable, but it was how it had naturally happened, and it was more than Peter had ever imagined sex could be. He later tried to find the right words describing what he had experienced, and the only one that came even close to reality was ridiculous and corny, but he didn’t care.

_Heaven._

Yes. It was heaven.

When it wasn’t even over yet, he was already feeling nostalgia, already committing the fleeting moment to his memory, treasuring it. He closed his eyes and tried to hold on to every detail, scared they would go away, scared they were already dissolving in his brain, especially the sounds Tony was making. Dali’s painting reappeared in his mind but this time Peter didn’t panic. He saw it and didn’t recoil from its truth; holding on to his lover, he accepted it. He was experiencing the best moment of his life and it was already dissolving. It was over, it was happening and it wasn’t over yet, all at once. He pictured the beloved memory of it being born bright and clear in his brain, but even as it was shining there for the first time, parts of it were already gone, succumbing to time relentlessly flowing forward. But it was how things were. It was man’s condition. It was nature — neither good nor bad, as Aristotle had written more than two millennia ago.

_‘Would there be time if there were no soul?’_ he oddly remembered the ancient question as Tony was loudly pleasuring himself against his body.

When he found himself alone in bed the next morning, he mused about sex and time and love and death again, staring at the ceiling. He wondered how much of that blissful moment he would still remember decades from now if he ever grew to become an elderly man.

_‘Oh yeah! Yeah! Pete! Aaaaah!’_

Who knew the great Tony Stark could be reduced to a whimpering mess? Peter did now. All he had to do was close his eyes and remember his cries of pleasure. He owned that memory for now. He wondered how many people had been lucky enough to witness the wonderful phenomenon that was Tony Stark totally losing control, coming undone under the wave of a powerful orgasm.

_‘Aaaaah! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha… ha…’_

Yes, the genius had lost his mind that night, but for him, it took on a very different meaning.

Predictably, he couldn’t live with himself afterwards.

How did it come to that? When had he lost it? When Peter had pressed his erection against him? No, way before that... When he had kissed him back? When he had opened that door? When he had left Skywoods? When he had called him that fateful night? No, no… he had lost it way before all that… Maybe on Titan…

He couldn’t escape the memory of Peter coming apart under him. _God,_ a teary and aroused Peter telling him he loved it when he called him sweetheart… He had kissed him senseless, wanting to take him, to plunge into him, to merge with him. The boy had suddenly cried out and gasped into his mouth, lifting him as his hips bucked and he spilled in his cotton shorts, producing the most beautiful sounds, and then he had felt it, the warmth, the dampness sipping through fabric and slightly staining his own sweatpants against his straining cock, a tiny, tiny sensation, and he had completely lost it. He had buried his head in the crook of the boy's neck and dry-humped his super strong body like a fucking animal, his gasps and moans raw and completely uncontrollable.

Tony pictured himself a decade ago. He would have scoffed had anyone told him the best orgasm of his life would be caused by humping someone fully clothed.

_A teenager…_

He woke up in the middle of the night still in Peter’s embrace, his face resting against the boy’s hard chest, the top of his head tucked under his chin. He carefully slid away from his sleepy hold. Hypnotized by Peter’s peaceful, youthful face, he was unable to get back to sleep.

_I’ve just had sex with a sixteen year-old_, was all he could think about.

It didn’t change anything that they had been clothed, that they hadn’t even _touched_ each other, that there obviously hadn’t been any penetration. It didn’t change anything. He’d fucked a kid.

He had no excuse.

His eyes filled with tears of shame.

Before leaving, he picked up the book on Hadrian, opened it to a photograph of busts of Hadrian and Antinoüs next to each other in the British Museum, and gently put it onto the bed, opened to mark the page, for Peter to see when he would wake up. He bent over Peter's hair and stopped himself from kissing it, taking one last longing whiff of his heady scent instead, eyes closed, _memorizing_ it. And then he left on tiptoes, his pants still damp. They hadn’t even washed themselves afterwards, hadn’t even taken their stained clothes off. They had fallen asleep into each other’s arms almost instantly, without a worry in the world.

He wanted to die more than ever when he stepped back into the dark and silent forest.

* * *

‘Hi, Bruce, Happy here, hope I didn’t wake you. I’m getting weird signals from the tag, it’s probably nothing but I just wanna make sure. He looks… agitated… Can you check on him?’

‘Sure, no problem!’, Bruce kindly said. ‘Don’t worry, you didn’t wake me, I was reading.’

‘Thanks. Call me back if anything’s wrong.’

‘Right.’

The huge green man uncrossed his giant bare feet on the made-to-measure mattress Happy had sent for the day they had arrived, and stretched. He opened the tab of his phone showing him the little dot of Peter’s tag, not worried in the slightest. The kid had seemed to be doing just fine so far. It was almost midnight. Maybe he’d had a nightmare. But then he understood why Happy had called him. The little red dot was relentlessly moving back and forth inside the small map of his guest cottage. Peter was pacing agitatedly. Weird indeed… Maybe he was just thinking hard about an idea he’d just gotten? No, a nightmare seemed more likely, he concluded. There was probably nothing really serious to worry about, but Bruce decided to follow Happy’s request and go and check on him. He stood up, stretched again, put on his giant dark brown bathrobe and walked slowly out of his room so as not to wake May who was sleeping next door, exhausted after their long hike. Not making any noise when you weighed 1,600 pounds wasn’t a piece of cake, to say the least. He looked down at his phone again when he was downstairs and stopped. Peter wasn’t pacing anymore. He was in his bathroom. Bruce decided to make himself some herbal tea — and pinch a couple of those delicious lemon biscuits May had cooked for them. He reconsidered. He would wait a little in the kitchen just to make sure Peter went to bed, and then if he did, he would simply have a little talk with him the next morning; was there really an urgent need to disturb him right now? After another ten minutes the little dot moved out of the bathroom and up the stairs of the cottage. False alert it was.

Bruce stood up and decided to go back to bed himself. He walked to the sink of the kitchen, put his mug there, grabbed a sponge, poured some dishwashing liquid making sure he didn’t squeeze the bottle too hard, and started delicately washing his mug. When he was done, the jar of cookies was suddenly right in front of his face, beckoning at him on a shelf. _I’ll bake new ones tomorrow for everybody_, he shrugged and picked it up, unable to resist the temptation.

The July night was warm and sweet, crickets were singing and Bruce even heard the distant hooting of an owl through the open French window leading to the terrace. He walked towards it, six cookies now in his huge left hand and a seventh in his mouth, happy to enjoy the summer night air while eating the treats. He bent down to be able to walk out, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling as content as he could be. He loved the sensation of his huge bare feet walking on grass, and so he walked a hundred feet or so into the backyard before sitting on the bench next to the small, bulky tree holding Morgan’s tree house. He looked up when a flock of birds abruptly took off from the forest and was met with the gorgeous sight of thousands of stars shimmering in the moonless sky. He smiled and put another two cookies in his mouth. He wondered if he could spot a fox or a badger if he remained still like that for a while.

As if on cue, he heard the rustling of branches and leaves on his left, and felt a rush of excitement. He slowly stood up, careful not to make any noise, and ducked as best he could behind the bench which comically did nothing to hide his huge body.

_Oh, I’m gonna see a nocturnal animal!_ the big dork internally squeaked in delighted anticipation.

But instead of a fox, he watched in stunned silence as a human figure swiftly emerged from the darkness of the forest, walking straight towards him across the backyard.

‘What the—’ he whispered.

Bruce tensed, getting ready to simply stand up and confront the intruder, but then he squinted. The dark figure was limping, slightly bent forward, and something was faintly glinting on the right side of his body. No, it couldn’t be. He ducked even more and then remained still as a statue, the tree hiding most of his big frame from—

Tony.

Tony walked right past him some fifty feet away, panting. He didn’t notice Bruce. He was in a hurry and was obviously trying his best not to be seen himself, even pausing a few seconds behind the shed, looking over at the manor, before resuming his painful-looking sneaking.

He was going straight to Peter’s cottage.

Bruce connected the dots but they didn’t make sense.

Several hypotheses presented themselves to his scientific brain. Knowing Tony and knowing Peter, none of them led him to any logical conclusion. Tony had obviously escaped again. Peter had been waiting agitatedly for him, hence the pacing. Bruce reached for his phone as Tony began walking up the front steps of the cottage. He looked at the little red dot waiting inside in front of the stairs, and then saw it move towards the door.

Why were they secretly meeting in Peter’s cottage in the middle of the night? What was going on? A secret mission? What kind of secret mission would require them not to tell anyone, not even Happy?

He stood up and started slowly walking towards the cottage, a sense of dread tightening his chest.

_ This looks like… _

When he was a few feet away from the western wall of the cottage, he stopped.

_What if… what if… No, it can’t be. There must be another explanation to this, there has to be! Why are you even thinking about this, you big weirdo?_

There was a window right next to him. All he had to do was to take a quick look at what they were doing, just for a second, just to make sure it wasn’t that, and then go. He bent his knees, turned over and peeked inside.

They were hugging. Bruce froze. No, it was more than just a friendly hug. It went on and on. They were tightly holding on to each other. He could see the right side of Peter’s face. There was a pained look of pleasure on it and his hand was gripping the back of Tony’s shoulder.

Bruce was careful not to slam his back against the wall when he quickly looked away.

_ No, no… this is not what it looks like.... Something must’ve happened, something terrible and Tony’s just comforting him… Is he comforting him for what happened almost two weeks ago? There must be a logical explanation other than… other than… _

There was a scream, the disturbing noise muffled by the walls and closed windows of the cottage but still loud and clear and chilling, making Bruce start and shudder. In an instant, he was full-on staring inside, not mindful not to get caught this time. Tony was quickly limping to a distraught-looking Peter, his Iron man armor suddenly slithering all the way up to his neck, and then Bruce watched in shock as he slammed Peter against the floor, hard.

_ They’re fighting! _

_ Wait a minute... _

_ They were hugging just now, seconds ago! _

Tony was pinning Peter down in his Iron Suit and neither of them were moving. They were just staring at each other, panting…

_ God, they look like… _

Something was wrong, very wrong. Bruce looked away again, frowning deeply.

_ What should I do? Barge in? Walk in on them? _

He opted for waiting a little more to see where this was going, his ears straining to hear anything from the two superheroes. He couldn’t hear anything. He stuck his right ear onto the wood of the wall.

_‘Why are you laughing?’_ he clearly heard Peter say after a moment, but he couldn’t make out what Tony then said, his voice too low. He did hear him after a few seconds, though.

_ ‘Hey, hey, hey, what d’you think you’re doing!’ _

_ ‘Kissing you.’ _

Bruce gasped, his eyes growing wide with shock. He recoiled from the wall as if burnt by it. He stared at the patch of grass lit up by the light coming from the cottage window, breathing hard. He could still faintly hear what they were saying. They were speaking loudly now, playfully bantering. Bruce had a lump in his throat.

_ ‘You told me you had a cane now, like House!’ _

_ ‘I do! No need to rub it in my face! … I didn’t bring it, obviously!’ _

Bruce couldn’t hear all of it. He didn’t even hesitate when he pressed his ear back against the wood.

_ ‘Because I didn’t want you to see me with it! ... I don’t need your help!’ _

_ ‘Yeah, ‘cause that was way easier than me just putting you back on your feet in a second!’ _

_ ‘It only would have cost me my dignity, but I guess that’s okay!’ _

_ ‘You already think you’re just like Hitler, how low can it get? ... Yes, you did!’ _

_ ‘No, I did not!’ _

_ ‘Yes, you did!’ _

_ ‘Brat!’ _

_ ‘Jerk!’ _

_ ‘Kid!’ _

_ ‘Grandpa!’ _

_ ‘Barbara!’ _

Peter laughed. Bruce shuddered.

_ ‘I’m warning you: no sex tonight. Daddy’s not in the mood.’ _

He recoiled from the wall again, suddenly feeling faint. _Oh my god… No…_ _No, Tony's joking... He's just joking…_

He plunged his right hand into the large pocket of his bathrobe and retrieved his phone. He fixed it for a moment, trying to make up his mind.

_ Should I call Happy? Should I walk in on the two of them and ask them what the fuck is going on? _

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. They were still talking but he couldn’t hear anything now. He walked away, back to the manor, careful to take a detour by the shed so as not to be seen by either of them through the window. He would stay in the kitchen and confront Tony as soon as his old friend would come out. There had to be a logical explanation to all of this. There had to be. He sat on a stone bench at the terrace. He waited and waited and waited until he saw the little red dot of Peter’s tag moving upstairs to his bedroom. Tony didn’t come out.

He waited for three agonizing hours.

Peter’s front door opened a little after three in the morning. Bruce didn’t move. He watched as still as a statue as an oblivious Tony Stark carefully closed it behind him before sneaking back into the forest like a wolf, feeling like the passive accomplice to a crime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Age of consent in Virginia is eighteen...


	24. Lull

**July 1, 2023**

‘I can’t fucking believe it! Oh fuck this is too good… Fucking _ Scorpion _ got locked up by some white-ass kid… Fuck!’

Adrian Toomes was lying cross-legged on his top bunk. He tore his eyes away from _ the Grapes of Wrath _ and looked up at the ceiling, stunned at what he had just overheard. Big Joe was laughing his ass off in the cell next to his.

‘The fuck you talkin’ about?’, he heard Sanders say in a sleepy voice.

‘Spider-Man! He’s a fucking _ kid! _ ’, the dump truck went on, pausing to catch his breath. ‘He got busted by the fishbowl guy, everyone knows his name now, _ Peter Parker_…’, he slowly articulated. ‘Oh this is too good!’, he cackled.

‘Will you shut the fuck up?’

Toomes’s book was now resting on his chest, forgotten. He had to think. Fast. And sure enough, a few minutes after he was out of his cell, Gargan found him.

The cold-hearted gang leader had just had poor Big Joe badly whopped for having taken the piss out of him a bit too loudly in his cell. Broken nose, jaw, and punctured lung... _ Damn_. Gargan was the kind of guy who could have you killed in the chow hall for simply staring at him.

Little Vaughn was the one who broke the news to him in the library, as they were putting a bunch of books back onto their shelves together. When they heard the creaking door open and the tell-tale strut of the dangerous inmate, Toomes shared a look with the kid, and for a second there, he saw Peter Parker’s wide brown eyes staring back at him in fear. 

It wasn’t the first time the twenty-two year-old reminded him of the boy who had saved his daughter’s life and his own, while ruining them both at the same time. It was quite a strange feeling to have a visceral need both to protect and to strangle Peter Parker in his sleep... What he had grown to feel towards Little Vaughn in the past three years obviously wasn’t that extreme, but if he had to define their relationship, he would say that he had become kind of a prison dad for the soft-spoken _ programmer. _ That was how you called inmates hanging out in the library as often as they could— people trying to better themselves and get ready for the outside world. He couldn’t deny that his fondness for him had a lot to do with the fact that he sort of looked and sounded like his daughter’s ex-boyfriend. Sort of. He was a former junkie with a fucked-up childhood. A good kid with very bad luck. Prey to predators like Gargan. Just like Peter Parker.

‘What are you waiting for? Go!’, he whispered to him.

But Gargan reached them before he could move. The psychopath looked at Toomes with a calm, triumphant air. ‘Get the fuck out’, he ordered, still looking at the older man who, well-trained from decades of heated union debates and now years in jail, held his icy gaze without blinking. Little Vaughn instantly moved away, the words obviously directed at him, and he threw a furtive, nervous glance at the tattooed scorpion on Gargan’s neck. Toomes successfully hid the sigh of relief that left his lungs.

Gargan stepped forward and dapped him. The older man was well-used to hiding his disgust for him. Besides, despite everything he knew about him, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was the main reason why his time in Rikers had so far been relatively comfortable compared with what the vast majority of inmates had to endure.

Neither of them had been blipped.

‘You heard?’ Gargan said in a low voice, not hiding his glee.

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s fucking Christmas, man. Instant green light. Pitch Black’s already on it, tried to snatch his folks but the little fucker’s got no parents, just an aunt. He almost got to her before an Avenger took her right in front of his face. Tough luck, man. He’s looking for any close friends right now. Did you call your guy yet? Shocker?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Listen, that whole time travel thing plus that _ illusion _ tech? It’s fucking _ crazy’, _the shorter man whispered very close to Toomes’s face. ‘Got me thinking… I put Dutch on it. Turns out that guy, _ Mysterio, _might very well be sharing our common interest in our little spider friend’, he said, his eyes horribly smiling.

‘Didn’t he just get an instant kickstand over in the UK?’

Gargan grinned even more and it almost made Toomes shudder. Almost.

‘Not yet, he’s still _ waiting for his trial_…’ The way he said that made Toomes frown. ‘Listen, man, like I said, he got a crew with fucking _ illusion tech..._ Catch my drift?’

Toomes stared at him with what looked like mild renewed interest, his icy eyes only growing a tiny bit wider. Internally, he was screaming.

‘Dutch got to him directly?’

‘Nah, his lawyer. Some fancy British dude. I’m calling him as soon as Sweep gets another burner. Listen, that Mysterio guy’s broke, we can drag him on the take. I’m on it. You, get to your crew fast. Tell your science guy to contact Black. Meeting tomorrow, 3:30, usual spot.’

‘No, it’s no longer in the cut. The pound, 2:30.’

‘Shit, thanks for the heads up, man. See you there.’

‘Yeah.’

* * *

**July 12, 2023**

_ Of course it was a dream _ was Peter’s first thought when he woke up alone to chirping birds on the morning of July 12. A narrow beam of sunshine was peeping through the skylight of the mezzanine, countless specs of floating dust slowly drifting in the bright morning light. He turned around onto his stomach and sighed into his pillow, chasing after the fading perfection of his dream. 

His eyes suddenly opened.

_ That’s Mr. Stark’s scent. _

He started, turned over and half sat up, his shoulder gently bumping into the book as he moved. It was opened face down on the edge of the bed. He turned it over and stared at the ancient couple.

Some dried-up substance was slightly sticking his skin to the fabric of his shorts. 

_ It wasn’t a dream. _

A strong wave of blood-curdling fear hit him with no warning. He almost slammed his hand onto the nightstand as he fumbled for his phone.

_ Please, please… _ he thought, picturing Tony putting the book down next to him as a final farewell.

He had four texts from his beloved mentor and now forbidden lover.

**From Tony, 6:20am: I’m safe. Whatever you hear, don’t worry about me. Are you okay?**

Peter let out a huge sigh of relief and flopped back down onto the bed with a bounce, almost knocking his head against the bed frame. He waited a minute to calm down before he read the other messages.

**From Tony, 6:21am: Delete every text.**

**From Tony, 6:28am: I need some time to think.**

**From Tony, 6:54am: If you regret what happened, please let me know.**

Peter quickly typed his reply, warmth and dread strangely mingling in his chest.

To Tony, 10:32am: I’m more than okay, it was the best night of my life, of course I don’t regret it. Do you?

To Tony, 10:33am: What do you mean you need some time? And whatever you hear? Where are you? 

To Tony, 10:33am: Please stay safe.

Tony almost instantly replied.

**From Tony, 10:34am: I told you not to worry. Have a beautiful day, sweetheart.**

Love and arousal flooded his brain in a deliciously warm wave as soon as he read the last word. His sigh came out as a moan. ‘Oh my god’, he whispered incredulously to the ceiling. He lifted his phone above his face, determined to call him, but then he saw Tony’s next message.

**From Tony, 10:36am: I repeat, delete all of our texts. Now. Lock your phone and don’t call me. I’m good at blocking spyware but they’re looking for me rn and they got the tech. Don’t worry if I stop texting for a while. I’ll reach back eventually.**

To Tony, 10:36am: Please tell me where you are. 

**From Tony, 10:36am: No. Enjoy your vacation, Pete. I’m okay, I promise.**

To Tony, 10:37am: I love you

Tony didn’t reply for eleven painful minutes.

**From Tony, 10:48am: I love you too, sweetheart.**

He had ignored most of Peter’s questions but the boy’s worry was partially soothed away by joy and love. He stayed in bed for a while, burying his nose into the pillow and sheet, chasing after Mr. Stark’s scent that seemed to slowly disappear the more he smelled it.

_ Mr. Stark… _ Funny how his mind couldn’t quite get used to this new reality yet and kept calling him that, although not every time now. The trauma of Beck’s illusion was still there but subdued, last night having somehow cured him of it at least partially. No, this wasn’t the only explanation. He couldn’t quite yet reconcile the two Tony Starks. Or were there only two? 

He was his childhood hero, the billionaire genius, the sarcastic superhero; his mentor, his role model, his friend. He was his older, smarter, better double and his ashamed, depressed, suicidal soulmate… He was still Mr. Stark but he was Tony now, and a different Tony than in his former sexual fantasies. He was a very real, palpable, fully-fleshed, vulnerable human being. Just Tony. 

He was all of them rolled into one person, none of them really annulling the others. It was strange for Peter to try and wrap his head around that fact. Strange and exhilarating. 

_ ‘I need some time to think’... _

_ ‘Whatever you hear’... _

What did that mean? He knew of Tony’s chaotic, unpredictable tendencies. He remembered Happy’s words. _ ‘He’s a mess’. _ _He didn’t go back to the facility and they’re looking for him… Happy… His wife… Ex-wife? God… He’s probably hiding somewhere… But he told me not to worry… three times… _

_ I trust him. _

_ He called me sweetheart again. Twice. _

_ He loves me. _

He looked at Tony’s texts again and smiled, his mind filled with the still vivid memory of their love-making. He let himself drift towards existential thoughts, basking in this new dreamy reality, thinking about time and feeling like he was going through a great moment of transition in his life, some kind of self-defining threshold, before he lazily got up and slowly walked downstairs to the shower.

He jerked off twice, high with happiness.

When he stepped into the living room with only a towel around his naked hips, his eyes rested on the front door, on the couch, on the floor along the kitchen counter, and finally on the sink before which they had shared their first kiss. He walked behind the counter and stared at the little saucepan now filled with cold water, and then at the two untouched mugs next to the sink. He closed his eyes, trying to relive the passion, unconsciously bringing his fingers to his lips. He wiped his eyes and cheeks now wet from emotion on his towel, readjusting it around him afterwards, and then slowly walked up to the window facing the couch and opened it, taking a whiff of the scented morning air of the forest, a soft breeze making the thin curtains dance. He closed his eyes again and smiled brightly, almost laughing out of pure joy, before suddenly skipping towards the staircase, pumping his fist in a rush of adrenaline.

_ I had sex with Mr. Stark! _

He suddenly froze when he heard distant footsteps. 

Heavy footsteps coming closer and closer.

He rushed the rest of the way up to the mezzanine as quietly as he could and reached his closet just as the clearer, louder and unmistakable sound of Bruce’s feet on the wooden front steps reached his ears.

Stomp, stomp, stomp.

Knock, knock, knock.

_Weird_, he thought. Bruce usually let him sleep in whenever he missed their morning routine. He never came to his cottage, respectfully leaving him alone whenever he felt like staying in. Come to think of it, Peter suddenly remembered the last time he had missed their morning run. His big friend had teasingly joked that he would barge in with a water balloon the next time his lazy ass couldn’t get up before eight. It was almost eleven. It fit. 

No need to be paranoid.

Peter quietly laughed to himself. He was more than ready for a water balloon fight right now. He felt like jumping and doing a marathon even though he hadn’t gotten enough sleep. Maybe he would even consider taking a splash in the pool for once, his fear of swimming after his almost drowning in a lake now suddenly appearing easily manageable. 

‘Coming!’, he chanted loudly, putting on some boxers, a pair of clean shorts and a T-shirt in a hurry, careful not to tear them. He grabbed some socks and hurried downstairs, thrilled by the prospect of going for a run right now — of sprinting past the beautiful fields, river and trees he had grown to love. 

He opened the door with his sneakers in one hand, bracing for an eventual splash with a huge smile on his face.

* * *

**May 26, 2023**

‘I don’t understand. Who _ are _you again?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Actually, yes, it does. It does matter, Mister…?’

‘Call me Doc.’

‘I…’, Mason let out a breathy laugh. ‘I just… I need to talk to my boss about this.’

‘Your boss’s useless right now. What you need is to get him out, and that’s precisely what I’m offering.’

‘I’m sorry, sir… _ Doc _ … but this is… I mean… I need to run some tests first… this… this sample of yours... I need to make sure this is _ real _, you know?’

‘Of course. Call me back when you’re impressed enough.’

‘I… wait… why are doing this? Sir? Doc? Hello?’

Mason frowned at his phone before resuming his stunned stare at the piece of metal before him.

* * *

**July 12, 2023**

‘Not again...’, a distraught Pepper sighed into her phone. Happy was too quiet. ‘What is it… What is it you’re not telling me… Happy… Happy?’

‘I… I got a text from him’, the man finally replied.

‘What? And?’ Way too quiet. ‘Happy, you’re scaring me.’

‘No, it— he— like I said, he’s okay, it’s just… I… I don’t think we’re gonna see him for a while.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah… He needs some time for himself... That’s what he wrote… He told me not to worry, though.’

‘And you _ believed _ him?’

Happy shuddered.

‘No.’

‘Happy… We _ have _ to find him.’

‘I know… I just don’t know what to do... I don’t know what to do, Pepper. I tried everything. He hacked Friday… He… How the hell do you win at hide-and-seek with _Tony?_ _How_, Pepper? You tell me!’

Pepper stared at the lake, fear gnawing at her chest.

‘You don’t’, she whispered, resigned.

* * *

To Tony, 10:16am: Please pick up. You can’t keep doing this to me. To us.

To Tony, 10:35am: I need to know that you’re safe.

**From Tony, 10:36am: I am. Don’t worry for me. I just need some alone time. I’ll come and visit every Wednesday. Tell Morgan I’ll be home around 9 next week. Her bunker better be ready!**

_ What? _ How _ dare _ he casually drop this decision like that, this _ whim _ of his, impose this on them as if everything was fine, as if he hadn’t just escaped an anti-suicide facility? Was he just going to pretend that all of this was _ okay? _

To Tony, 10:38am: Pick up.

**From Tony, 10:42am: It’s just for a few weeks, need to figure some stuff out. I PROMISE you I’m okay. **

She received the close-up of a woodpecker perched on the branch of a fir tree, Tony’s armored hand in the bottom left-hand corner doing a thumbs up. 

**From Tony, 10:46am: Still love you btw.**

**From Tony, 10:46am: Always.**

To Tony, 10:54am: You’re unbelievable.

* * *

Bruce wasn’t smiling.

Peter’s face instantly fell.

‘What happened?’, he candidly asked, looking up at the giant who didn’t answer. Instead, he _ scanned _ him, frowning. Peter’s blood froze.

‘Can we talk? Alone?’ Bruce finally said, looking inside at the couch. He looked barely calm.

_ Angry. _

Peter wanted to reply _ ‘Sure!’ _, but nothing came out of his dry throat. He walked to the couch. Bruce walked in, bending over to pass the door frame. Peter didn’t sit down. He heard him close the door behind him.

What followed was a short but dreadful silence. 

_ No, no, that’s not it, it must be something else. It has to. Please let it be anything but that! _Peter thought in a panic. He was the first to speak, but his words came out all squeaky and quavery.

‘D’you want some tea? Charlie gave me some of his homemade Scottish Breakfast.’ 

He sounded like a child. Bruce shuddered. He didn’t reply. Peter gulped, suddenly starving and feeling as if he were ten years old. He eventually turned and faced his friend.

He had the same expression on his face. He was frowning angrily at him, something he had never done before, but there was something else in his eyes too, as if he was trying to figure something out. 

Peter’s remaining hope came crashing down. 

Yes.

Yes, he knew.

But _ how? _

And what did he know exactly? 

Peter’s breath hitched. Bruce closed his eyes to compose himself before he finally spoke.

‘Why was Tony here last night?’

‘What?’

‘I saw him.’ 

Peter couldn’t think but he _ had _ to. He had to _ right now _. Bruce breathed loudly through his nose. The sound of it made the tension between them dramatically rise. He closed his eyes again before he went on. 

‘I saw him enter your cottage around midnight.’ He looked directly at Peter. ‘He came out after three.’ 

Peter blinked. 

_ Think. Think. Oh my god, think! _

Bruce went on.

‘Please tell me you have a logical explanation for this because I’m trying really hard not to call Happy or Pepper right now...’

Oh, the irony…

Peter’s mouth opened and closed and opened and closed again.

‘We— he— this is— this is a secret’, he lamely stammered. ‘A secret mission’, he added, unable not to cringe at his own words. ‘I’m sorry, I— I can’t tell you.’

‘You’re a very bad liar, Pete…’

‘What? No, no, I’m not lying, I— this is— you—’

‘Very bad indeed…’

‘He needed help, okay?’ Peter loudly exclaimed, a perfect idea finally popping into his sharp brain. ‘Look, he— he sent me a text saying he wanted to… he… he almost…’, he teared up. It wasn’t hard to act crushed at that half-lie at all. Bruce’s eyes went wide. ‘I’m sorry, he made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone.’

‘Oh my god, he… he tried to kill himself?’ Bruce gasped, bringing a hand to his chest.

_ Bad liar, huh? _Peter thought.

‘Yes! Yes… I’m sorry, he made me swear… I swore not to tell anyone… he… he broke out of rehab last night and… and he almost crashed his suit... and he didn’t know where to go…’

‘And you comforted him?’ Bruce suddenly asked, once again frowning, tilting his head to the side and advancing towards him. 

Peter felt tiny, which he was next to his colossal frame. 

‘What? Y—yes.’

Bruce was looming over him now. He stared at him for a long moment, Peter staring back into his analytical gaze with as much innocence as he could muster.

‘Why? What did you th—‘, the younger superhero started.

‘Oh thank god’, Bruce interrupted him, his face suddenly relaxing. Both of them sighed heavily in relief at the same time. The older man then started chuckling. ‘I saw you two hug and… nevermind. Where is he now?’

‘What? You _ spied _ on us?’

‘I saw him sneak in here and I just followed him. Good God, you have no idea how relieved I am right now …’

‘What? Why?’ Peter asked, nailing the innocent look.

‘Forget it. Where is he now?’

‘I—I don’t know.’

Bruce froze. Peter too.

‘What?’

‘What...’

Bruce’s face was back to its previous look. 

_ Shit. _

_ Think. Fast. _

‘You don’t know where he is now.’

‘No.’

He tried to figure out why Bruce thought this was suspicious as hell but couldn’t. He couldn’t think again.

‘Wait… and why you? Why did he come here? Why did he come to _you?’_

‘I— I don’t know… I think he thought his wife or Happy would just… I don’t know.’

‘He slept here…’ Bruce went on, looking down. Peter felt like a guilty suspect in front of Sherlock Holmes, slowly losing a game of hide-and-seek, the whole truth about to be unveiled.

‘On the couch, yeah’, he managed to say.

The green man stayed frozen for a couple of seconds before he let out a big sigh and brought his hands to his face.

‘God, I thought…’ he then softly chuckled again.

‘What?’ Peter stayed in his role, relieved.

But then Bruce’s face fell. He was thinking hard again. Peter felt on the edge of a cliff. His heart was pounding.

_ Think of something to say. A distraction. Anything. Now! _

‘Why didn’t you call me or Happy?’

_ Too late. _

‘He made me swear…’

‘Where is he now?’ Bruce repeated his earlier question, but this time with a harsh tone.

‘I— I told you, I don’t know… He left when I was still asleep…’

Peter looked in horror when Bruce’s eyes widened as something dawned on him. He then slowly uttered his next question, and it felt like a death sentence.

‘Then why were you beaming when you opened the door…’

‘Wh—what?’ Peter weakly said.

‘You heard me… Why did you look so happy? Let me get this straight… Tony comes here after a suicide attempt, leaves without warning in the middle of the night without you knowing; you don’t call for help, you don’t call anyone, you don’t even know where he is right now and yet when you opened the door you looked the happiest I’d seen you since we arrived here?’ 

_ Oh shit _.

‘I— he… he… he sent me a text… he’s okay now, he…’

He couldn’t bear looking at Bruce in the eye. It was as if he did, he would see everything. Everything that had happened last night.

‘Show me.’

‘Wh—what?’

‘I said show me the text.’

‘What? Why?’

Bruce was breathing hard again.

‘Now’, he whispered dangerously, his voice dropping at least an octave.

Peter hadn’t deleted the texts. He hadn’t done it immediately as Tony had asked him to. Why hadn’t he done it? How could he have been so stupid?

‘I deleted it.’

‘You deleted it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘He asked me to.’

‘Show me your phone then.’

‘Show— What? Why?’

Bruce closed his eyes once more in a clear attempt at remaining calm.

‘I said show me your phone, Peter. Now.’

Both of their hearts were beating fast and hard. Peter’s brain was now painful with the effort of trying to save himself, save Mr. Stark, with the effort of trying to find something, anything that would justify his refusing to obey Bruce right now.

‘I can’t.’

Bruce broke their stare and began scanning the room for the device.

‘Hey listen, I got very private stuff on it that I don’t want you to see, okay? Why are you— why—’

‘Where is it?’

They both froze when Bruce’s scanning gaze landed on the spiral staircase. 

‘Wait. No, don’t’, Peter warned him, or begged, it wasn’t clear. That was only further confirmation for Bruce. 

He started to move. Peter didn’t have his webshooters on him but his arm uselessly shot up out of reflex. Bruce was already walking up the stairs. He didn’t think. He dashed towards the giant and grabbed his left arm. Bruce froze and looked down.

‘Let go, Pete.’

‘No. Stop. You have no right, no right! This is _ private _, okay?’

‘What’s private...’ Bruce asked, a dark tinge to his voice. 

When Peter didn’t respond, he moved up another step. Peter pulled. For the first time since Thanos, he felt overpowered. He pulled harder. Bruce grunted.

‘Let me go’, he rumbled.

‘No!’ Peter cried out. Bruce managed to move despite Spider-Man’s grip on his arm. Peter then jumped onto the railing and trapped the huge arm between both of his own and the wood which dangerously cracked.

‘Peter, stop…’ Bruce grunted, his voice much, much deeper now.

‘No, _ you _ stop! That’s _ private! _’ he cried out.

All of a sudden, the hard wood of the railing split apart, instantly sending Peter to the floor. Bruce froze for a second but then loudly climbed to the mezzanine, making the shattered structure shake with each step and sending other wooden parts to Peter’s feet. 

‘No!’

Peter _ leaped _ all the way up and landed straight onto Bruce’s back in a single jump, but the giant, now bent over under the low ceiling of the mezzanine, didn’t stop. They both spotted the phone on the bed. He was seconds away from picking it up. Still without thinking, the smaller superhero wrapped his arms around his friend’s neck and squeezed. Bruce gripped the smaller arm in defense, _ hard _, instant pain making the boy cry out, but Peter didn’t let go. He squeezed harder. When he heard his dear friend choke, his blood froze. He released him with a pitiful cry and fell to the floor with a thud, defeated.

He couldn’t fight Bruce, he just couldn’t. 

He burst into tears.

‘I love him…’ he suddenly confessed to the wooden floor, a tear hitting it as he proceeded to full-on heave like a child. Bruce slowly picked up the phone. ‘I’m in love with him… Please… _I_ was the one…. Please… please don’t tell anyone… Please don’t blame him… please… please…’ he said in between pitiful sobs.

Bruce stared at the phone in his hand, then dropped it. He sat on the floor, his head and back killing him, and the wood of the little cottage cracked under his weight. He felt nauseous. A long silence followed. He tried to think straight despite the shock, despite the pity, and despite the disgust he was having a hard time breathing through right now. What was the right thing to do? What should he say to Peter? The boy was still weeping and begging. How horrible to hear a victim, a _ child _ , defend his own _ predator _ , his own _ rapist _ so passionately… Because what else could he call Tony now? It dawned on him that Peter had lost his father and then the uncle who had adopted him. Tony must have used that to his advantage, he vaguely thought. He must have used his status as a mentor, as a father figure to Peter to… to… 

He wanted to throw up.

Tony… His old friend… A child rapist… 

He welled up. 

He had no right to be in utter shock right now when he had had all night to ponder on the disturbing truth. He shouldn’t have doubted his instincts, shouldn’t have lied to himself, shouldn’t have turned a blind eye on them. He should’ve barged in. He should’ve stopped _ him, _ Tony, his friend, from doing _ that _ to Peter. 

Peter… Sweet and innocent Peter he had grown to love like his own son so quickly…

Somehow, crazily, irresponsibly, even with all the evidence in his face, he had still hoped for some other explanation to Tony’s presence, and because of his insane doubts, he had failed to protect Peter.

It didn’t matter that it had already happened before. That they had been doing that probably since way before the snap. 

He could’ve stopped Tony that one time but he hadn’t.

They both jumped at the sudden sound of May’s voice.

‘Oh my god, what happened here! Peter? Peter!’

They stared in shock at each other. 

‘Please! Please… please…’ Peter whispered again tearfully. 

‘Up here, May! Everything’s okay! Pete had a bad dream!’ Bruce called out, more to protect May than the unnatural couple.

‘Oh! Oh, sweetie!’

They ate breakfast together in awful silence after a long conversation about Peter’s fake nightmare and night terrors and superstrength and PTSD, and all of it was unfortunately neither new nor completely made up, which made it a perfect lie. May hugged him a lot and kept running circles all over his back while he stared blankly at his untouched plate of pancakes. He felt outside of his own body.

‘Still up for a run?’ Bruce suddenly asked.

‘What?’ Peter said in a small voice, taken aback. ‘Oh, I— I don’t feel so good, I—‘

‘I think it’ll do you some good actually. Don’t you think so, May?’

‘Oh, oh, sweetie, definitely. Bruce’s right, I think you should get some fresh air and sweat it out, you know?’

Peter didn’t look up. Poor May, if she knew what was causing his distress right now… He hadn’t really thought all that much about just how _ creepy _ their love was to any external eye. 

If she ever found out…

‘Honey?’

‘Y—yeah.’

He stood up first under Bruce’s glare that the huge man managed to disguise as deep worry; which it actually probably was, come to think of it. Bruce stood up as Peter was already walking into the manor and across it towards its pastoral front and their usual jogging trail. He listened to Bruce’s heavy steps behind him and broke into a run as soon as he was out, waving at a beaming Charlie currently picking up some chives for lunch. May had planned to cook up some huge salad with the property’s various fruits vegetables. 

It was another perfect, sweet-scented summer day.

Peter ran.

Fast.

Very fast.

He usually never went above 40 miles per hour unless his Spider-Man duties called for it, but now he was way past that.

50.

60?

Maybe 70.

He didn’t know.

He was soon miles away from the estate and gradually slowed down. He spat some bug out, one of the downsides of being able to run that fast. Another one was how he had just ruined his pair of sneakers. One of them had literally been ripped off his foot. The other was completely opened at the sole but was still somehow loosely hanging around his ankle, right under the vibranium tag. He frowned. He had almost forgotten its existence in the past week, but now it itched. 

He wasn’t running anymore. He put his hands on his hips, taking deep breaths and feeling both like a marathoner and an alien creature on earth. The thought of Usain Bolt and his record speed of 30 miles per hour or so almost made him smile. He turned around, not spotting Bruce at all. All was quiet apart from the thousands of subtle sounds of nature his spider senses could pick out. A light breeze, the river stream, the birds moving in the trees… A little rustle, a little crackle now and then. For the first time, he wished he had his suit on to muffle them a little.

He could escape. He could escape right now. Run and never look back.

Run to Tony.

He stopped, crouched and scratched his ankle. Suddenly he couldn’t bear it. He grabbed the tag and pulled at it with all his might. The thing responded to his strength by simply stretching a little. Pure, solid, unbreakable vibranium becoming pliant under his superhuman fingers. In hindsight he wondered what the fuck he had been thinking. Nothing, probably. 

He pulled harder and the metal cut into his skin, a stream of blood abruptly gushing out.

_ Oh shit, that’s a lot of blood. _

He didn’t cry out, didn’t really react. He just fell down on his ass and sat there on the ground, blankly looking at the fresh injury that felt like it was on another body. He never really bled all that much when he got hurt. He always healed almost instantly. And so it weirdly felt like a show, like a natural phenomenon he needed to observe. Had he even bled as much when the train had hit him in Berlin? He must have bled a lot, but he hadn’t looked. His suit had probably absorbed most of it. It had strongly smelled of iron when he had taken it off.

_ Blood is beautiful _, he thought. Deep, bright red. He wondered why the spider bite hadn’t changed its color. It would have been funny to have blue or pink blood. Not yellow, though. Nor black. 

He didn’t register fainting. He just did. 

When he came back to his senses, he was in the exact same spot. It took him only a few seconds to realize what had just happened and he almost laughed, imagining the headlines.

**Spider-Man Faints At The Sight Of Blood.**

He had no idea how much time had passed but his fresh cut wasn’t fresh anymore. The vibranium tag was painfully digging into it though, and he pushed it down his ankle, grunting in pain.

‘Tony…’ he unconsciously said out loud. He needed to be in his arms again but he had no idea where he was and he hadn’t brought his phone with him. The phone was still in his bedroom, for Bruce to inspect. All the texts they had shared… he couldn’t even remember just how _ bad _ they looked.

A sense of deep injustice filled him at the thought of Tony being seen as a… as a…

He got up and started lazily walking with his eyes closed, slightly swaying like a drunk man, the sun too hot on his brown hair, and he turned to a narrow trail under some trees joining up the little river he kept forgetting the name of. When he reached it, he stopped and leaned over it, his hands on his knees.

Running away was stupid, childish. What he needed to do was to convince Bruce he wasn’t a child, not the other way around. He had to talk to him. He had to make him see his side of the story and not… not what this _ looked _ like.

He started walking back along the trail he came from, wondering whether Bruce was still running after him. He got his answer a few seconds later when the ground began to shake. He saw a flock of scared birds flying away in the distance and then he saw him, appearing behind some trees a hundred feet or so ahead. 

He hadn’t stopped running.

Peter waited for him, holding himself straight with a missing shoe and blood all over the other torn one. Bruce slowed down as he spotted him. He didn’t even think of what he was going to say as he stared at the slowly growing figure of his worried friend walking up to him. He started talking in a loud and firm voice when he was twenty feet away.

‘Nothing will change how I feel. Go ahead and tell everyone! Put him in jail, destroy his life and mine! Nothing will _ ever _ change how I feel. I love him and everything that happened between us happened with my full consent.’

Bruce didn’t reply. He was looking at Peter’s feet and stopped ten feet away. He didn’t even ask about them. Instead, he asked:

‘How long has this been going on?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘It is, kid. Do you know how judges call it?’ Peter cringed even before he immediately answered his own question. ‘Statutory rape.’

‘I turn 17 in a few days.’

‘Age of consent is 18 here.’

‘You had to look it up, didn’t you? Which proves how random law is anyway! Is it 16 in other States? Are we legal in Texas? In California? Would you’ve freaked out if I were 17? My birthday’s less than—‘

‘Tony’s old enough to be your _ grandfather! _ Jesus, Pete, what is _ wrong _with you?’ Bruce cried out.

‘Provided he had a kid when he was still a teen and his kid had me as a teen too!’

‘Do you even _ hear _ yourself?’

‘So what? I love him! He loves me! I can’t control that and neither can he!’

‘He has to! He’s an adult! He took advan—‘

‘No! He _ never _ took advantage of me. Never!’

‘He did, kid! I hate to break it to you but _ think _ about it! He’s your— god, you were a _ fan! _ And he’s your _ mentor! _ He’s supposed to _ protect _ you, not— not—‘

‘He _ did_. He did protect me. He saved my life, he saved _ everyone,_ including _ you! _’

‘That’s not an excuse for having sex with a _ minor!’ _

‘We didn’t! We didn’t even _ do _ it. He didn’t do _ anything _ to me.’

‘You’re not even making sense anymore.’

‘What?’

‘Stop lying!’

‘I’m not lying!’

‘Oh really? Like earlier this morning?’

‘Well I’m not lying anymore now…’, Peter mumbled.

‘How long has this been going on?’

‘Once again, this is none of your business.’

‘It is if I call the cops.’

‘Oh yeah, because you would seriously do that to him? And I mean, _ seriously? _ Yeah, yeah, go ahead! Go ahead and ruin his life.’ In the back of his mind, Peter wondered if there would ever come a time when crying would become rare for him. Ever since he was six years old – no, scrap that, his parents were always away and he felt fucking _ abandonned _ – ever since he could remember _ existing_, crying had been part of his daily routine. Meeting Ned had largely improved everything, becoming Spider-Man too, but then there had been the flying vulture guy, and then, Thanos…

‘Kid… how long...’ Bruce asked, gentler this time.

‘Don’t tell May... please...’

‘How long?’

‘A few hours.’

‘Before or after?’ Bruce ignored him, referring to the snap.

‘I just told you! We hadn’t even _ kissed _ before last night!’

‘Stop lying to me, I heard you.’

‘What?’

‘I heard him. You had sex before. Many times.’

‘What? No! Last night was our first time! There! Satisfied?’

Bruce visibly cringed.

‘Jesus Christ… So you _ did _have sex last night. You keep changing your--’

‘No. Not like that… Not really…’

‘Peter, I need you to tell me the whole truth, right now.’

‘That’s the truth. We didn’t even…’

‘God… Jesus… I can’t believe it… this is not happening… this is not happening right now…’ Bruce was rambling all of a sudden, holding his own head. ‘This is just a nightmare and I’m gonna wake up… that’s it… God, I thought I knew Tony…’

‘He avoided me when I came back!’ Peter suddenly exclaimed. ‘He asked Pepper not to invite me over to see him, remember? He… He couldn’t bare to see me after the blip. You were there, right? Why do you think he wanted me to stay away!’ 

‘Christ…’

‘He tried not to… not to give in but I made him! I made him. I seduced him’, he added in a shy breath. ‘He’s in love with me, he’s not taking advantage.’

Bruce’s ears might as well be bleeding.

‘He had no right to_ act _ on it. Resisting temptation for a while doesn’t excuse him. It doesn’t excuse what he did to you.’

‘I _ made _ him, didn’t you hear me? I _ made _ him come last night. I _ begged _ him to come.’

They both cringed at the double entendre.

‘Kid, statutory rape was created for good reasons. Kids always defend their… that’s why it’s called statutory rape!’

‘He’s not a rapist! He didn’t rape me!’

‘So you did have sex.’

‘It’s none of your business!’

‘You can’t say that when—‘

‘Why do you care? He didn’t hurt me!’

‘It’s illegal!’

‘In every State?’ 

This conversation couldn’t go anywhere, Bruce realized. When he didn’t answer, Peter went on. ‘I bet it isn’t. And if you really wanna know, we didn’t even take our clothes off, he didn’t even _ touch _ me but I guess you’ll never believe me anyway! And I didn’t fully lie to you, he _ is _ suicidal and he _ needed _ me, just like _ I _ need _ him _! You know what? Call the cops! Go ahead and do it! He’ll kill himself and I’ll do it too.’ By the time he barely managed to finish his last sentence, Peter couldn’t speak anymore, feeling drained.

‘Jesus Christ… you need help’, Bruce muttered.

It took Peter a while to regain his voice. ‘He’s suicidal because of me. It’s because of me.’

‘And _ why?’ _ Bruce asked in a clearly rhetorical question.

Peter looked up at him with disdain. _ Really? _

‘I’ll tell you why this is killing him’, Bruce continued, making Peter cringe and shake his head. ‘It’s because he knows it’s _ wrong_. It’s _ wrong _ and _ twisted _ and _ disgusting _ because you’re sixteen and he’s past fifty! Pete, look at me, if your friend Ned came to you with a similar story, how would you feel? Would you let him do that with a fifty year-old man? What about MJ?’

‘You’re wrong!’ Peter abruptly shouted, almost hysterically. ‘It’s _ nothing _ like that! He’s not a pervert!’

‘You didn’t answer me. Be honest with me, Pete. If you found out your—‘

‘I _ died _ in his arms!’ Peter shouted, as if this answered everything. Bruce sighed sadly. ‘We—We’re _ alike! _ I can’t explain it. I can’t explain why but I feel connected to him in a way that… that... I _ love _ him! Don’t you _ get _ that? I love him more than anyone.’ 

‘More than May?’

‘Yes’, Peter instantly replied, shocking himself. ‘That’s low’, he added accusingly. ‘Comparing… that doesn’t make any sense, why would you _ ask _ that? It’s different.’

‘Why would I ask that? Think, Peter. How d’you think she—‘

‘She’ll never know.’

‘Oh really? How long did you think you could hide this from her?’

‘I—I didn’t think about it.’

‘Really? That’s pretty selfish of you.’

Peter huffed at that. ‘Selfish…’ Peter repeated in a shocked breath. ‘Yeah… Yeah… You know what? Yeah.’

‘Peter…’

‘Yeah, I’m a selfish man. Boy! Sorry. I’m a _ boy_. A _ child_. A twisted, selfish child. A fucked up fanboy who got manipulated by an evil man who happens to be your friend, by the way.’

‘Peter… I never said--’

‘It’s all so very simple! Just call the cops on him and have me committed! Just do it! And anyway it’s not like I could stop you, right?’

Bruce sighed again. A long silence passed between them. Peter looked up at his friend and for the first time realized the burden it was for him to know. He looked devastated. Peter wanted to sit on the ground again, feeling exhausted, but he stopped himself. His ankle didn’t hurt anymore and Bruce still hadn’t asked about it. He figured what had happened was obvious enough anyway.

‘What would you do?’

‘What?’

‘If you were me. What would you do?’ Bruce asked with a sadness that gave hope to Peter.

But that hope felt wrong.

‘I’m sorry. I know… I know how hard it must be for you… I never wanted anyone to…’

He thought about Mrs. Stark.

About Mr. Stark’s daughter.

As if he could read his mind, Bruce then uttered words that cut into his heart.

‘What about his daughter? How old is she now… uh, almost five I think. So that makes you… twelve years older than her…’

He remembered her little face, her little voice, her little wave and shy smile. 

_ ‘Thank you for saving my daddy.’ _

Her parents were separated now, because of him.

He couldn’t remember being pulled into a hug by Bruce, his face now against the giant’s stomach.

‘I need to think’, his friend just said before they went home.

* * *

**July 9, 2023**

‘011 44 20 4596 2569. Got it?’

‘Yes, yes, got it, oh, this is so exciting!’

‘Repeat it.’

‘Er, 011 44 20 4596 2569?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Oh, I can’t wait!’

‘Hey don’t get too worked up, we don’t know if he’ll accept the deal or not yet. Gargan told me he sounded a bit reluctant to work for us, I mean, _ with _us.’

‘Oh I’m sure he’ll come around when I talk to him, boss, don’t worry. He’s a man of science, right?’

‘I guess, yeah… He used to work for Stark.’

‘Oh, I can tell this is gonna be good!’ the plump engineer chanted. ‘We’ll get you out in no time. Maybe another month if this goes well? I can’t wait to tell Doc about the--’

‘Mason...’

‘Sorry.’

‘Just call him and then get in touch with Pitch Black right after.’

‘Copy that, boss.’

‘Where’s Shocker?’

‘Out. Don’t worry, he’s stayed pretty reasonable for a while now.’

‘Yeah… Keep an eye on him just in case...’

‘Copy that, but I’m sure that’s unnecessary. Have a nice day, boss.’

‘Right…’

* * *

**July 14, 2023**

‘Peter! Oh my god, how are you?’

‘Hi Ned. I’m fine, you?’

‘Great! There’s this old show on Netflix called _ The Wire _ and we’re super into it right now, it’s so, _ so _ good like, I don’t know how I’d never heard of it before! Have you?’

‘No, Ned, listen, I--’

‘It’s got like a ton of different characters and it’s sometimes super slow and boring but the story and characters are _ so _ interesting and _ funny _ and— wait, what were you going to say?’

_ Ned really is okay _ , Peter let out a sigh of relief. He’d received a few reassuring texts before, but he had not quite believed them. Now he knew. _ This _ was the real Ned and he was okay.

‘Yeah I… I kinda wanna talk to you? That is, if you have a minute or I can just call--’

‘Oh no totally! I mean, absolutely! Hang on, I’m going to my bedroom.’

Peter heard him shuffle. ‘Are you al—‘

‘It’s so _ huge _ here, dude, it’s _ crazy _ , I have my own room and it’s so big and there’s a pool? Like, an actual huge pool just for us! Can you believe it? I’ve actually lost a couple of pounds, I know it’s not much but it’s a start... I go there every afternoon and **— ** Sorry, of course you know all that, you’re an Avenger, silly me… Did you get to spend a lot of time there, though? It was apparently built during the blip. Oh... so that probably means you haven’t been here before, sorry... Or have you? Have you seen the movie theater? Bro, this place is _ insane _.’

Peter sadly smiled. He missed his goofy friend so much.

‘Hang on…’ Ned went on, probably sitting on his bed, getting comfortable. ‘So tell me! How’s your vacation going?’

‘I… great.´

‘Do you hang out around the pool a lot?’

‘Not really, no. I don’t really like swimming to be honest. May spends a lot of time there, though.´

‘Why, though? It’s _ so hot! _ At least here in New York. How hot is it where you are?’

‘I don’t know exactly... the same, I guess? I’m not that far South… But yeah, it’s quite hot.’

‘There’s a _ crazy _ heat wave coming up apparently next week, have you heard?’

‘Oh. No.’

‘Yeah so… drink a lot of water…’ Ned awkwardly laughed. ‘So like… what do you do? Do you still hang out with the Hulk a lot?’

Peter swallowed through the lump in his throat. ‘Listen, I gotta tell you something…’

‘Oh, is it top secret?’ Ned goofily asked.

‘Actually, yeah. Yeah, it is.’

‘God, I can’t believe my life right now.’

‘How’s your mom?’ Peter suddenly asked.

‘Oh she’s great! She spends a lot of time cooking for the Avengers and they love it, she’s in the kitchen downstairs right now. They actually want to hire her, can you believe it?’

‘What?’

‘Yeah, I know! How cool is that! But there’s this French dude… I kinda think there might be something going on between them... but I don’t really wanna talk about it...’

‘Oh. Wow.’

‘Yeah… So… what’s the secret mission?’

Peter suddenly didn’t know what to say.´How’s MJ?’ he asked instead.

_ Awkward _, Ned thought.

‘Oh, uh… She’s going back home in a few days. She’s been… quiet. I mean, more than usual. But you know… you know why, right… She kinda stays alone all the time, reading… But I mean, nothing new there, right? Also, she’s been kinda rude and stubborn as hell, doesn’t want to be _ locked up _ in a _ semi-fascist facility _, so… yeah… she’s been her usual self, basically…’ He let out another awkward laugh. ‘Listen, she… I think she still has a massive crush on you, to be honest...’ 

Peter closed his eyes. ‘Yeah… I’m sorry…’ he said, which was stupid because she wasn’t listening.

‘Yeah, well… I mean, that’s life, dude, it’s just like… the way it goes sometimes.’

‘No. I mean, yeah. I’m sorry. For everything.’

‘I know, Peter. You said it like, a million times already. Nothing’s your fault, you know that, right?’ 

Peter didn’t say anything back, and after a moment Ned thought he had hung up with his cheek by accident as he had had so many times before. But no, the call was still on-going. 

‘Peter?’

He froze when he heard a sob.

‘Peter? Oh my god, what happened! Is it… Is it because of… Beck? Peter? Hey… Hey, listen, it’s okay… Happy said they have all the resources to make sure you have as normal a life as possible and… yeah, your life’s gonna change and your aunt’s too but you have to know everyone, and I mean _ everyone _, Peter, every single person on earth right now thinks you’re awesome. I’m not kidding. I mean, there’s a bunch of weirdos who think you’re evil but have you watched the news? You’re like, everyone’s favorite superhero right now; well, next to Iron Man, obviously…’

There was another sob, much louder and higher this time. 

‘Oh my god, Peter, what’s wrong?’

‘I had sex with him.’

Ned’s brain short-circuited. 

He blinked. 

He blinked again. 

Peter had suddenly stopped crying, shocked that the words had come out of his mouth at that particular moment, and so _ easily. _

‘What?’

‘Ned… Listen… Please don’t freak out… Listen to me, okay? I-- I need you to listen to me… please, promise me you’ll listen.’

‘Okay.’

‘Thank you. Thank you. I**—** I need you to remember... please remember to keep it as a secret... because if anyone ever finds out… Bruce Banner found out and he freaked out and he told Happy and Happy swore to me he wouldn’t tell anyone but it’s a fucking mess and I feel… God, I feel so alone right now. The way he looks at me now… Oh Ned, I’m so sorry to put you through this but I need you… I need you now more than ever… I can’t keep it all to myself, I tried but I _ have _ to tell you, I have to, I feel like I’m gonna go batshit crazy if I don’t... if I don’t tell you everything about it right now… God, I _ tried _ not to call you but it’s so hard…’ He sobbed again. ‘It’s so hard… It’s too much… I love him too much... I don’t know what to do, Ned…’

Ned had never noticed how white the opposite wall was compared to the dark TV screen attached to it. 

‘He won’t answer any of my texts and I’m so worried… He’s gone, Ned. No one knows where he is… He left after we… oh we did it Ned and it was so, _ so _ perfect! I’m so sorry, I know how this sounds, I understand, but please, _ please _let me explain, let me tell you everything from the start, okay? And then you can… you can just… dude, I need some support right now. I’m sorry.’

‘I’m here’, Ned instantly said, his voice a little bit too… robotic.

‘Thank you… I’m so sorry… So… you know how I felt already, and after what happened in Europe...’

Ned listened to his friend’s words completely frozen. He didn’t even visibly react when Peter told him what he had done with MJ in her bedroom, when he told him about his fateful phone call with Tony, about that night in the penthouse. He couldn’t move. He was sitting on what had become his expensive bed, in his expensive white robe, staring at his huge TV screen in his spacious suite. Suddenly, he couldn’t stand the fact that this was Stark money right there, feeling uneasy, even guilty. 

_ Tainted. _

He wanted to throw up. The shock he was going through right now was unlike anything he had ever felt, and that included the huge fake fire monster he had faced in Prague. Peter was talking and talking, revealing things that sounded so unnatural to Ned that he actually thought about Stockholm syndrome, and it was only when his friend began describing the first kiss he had shared with the 53 year-old that he finally reacted.

‘No’, he simply said.

Peter stopped in the middle of his long, previously uninterrupted monologue. ‘What?’

‘This is wrong.’

He exhaled a shaky breath before replying. ‘I know. I know how it sounds but I swear to you, and I need you to believe me, Ned, please, you of all people, please believe when I say that…’

‘This is _ very _ wrong.’

‘…it was entirely consensual. I _ wanted _him. God I wanted him so much you have no idea, and I still do, oh god, I want him so much, Ned…’

‘You… you had sex with him...’

Peter hadn’t gotten to that part yet.

‘Yeah… Oh Ned, it was perfect. God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tell you this but I really, really want to… I have no one else… No one but you…’

‘This isn’t real.’

‘Ned…’

‘I’m just having a really, really weird dream right now.’

‘No. No, you’re not, I’m sorry, I know it’s super weird and it sounds creepy but I swear to you it wasn’t anything like that. He’s… God, he’s the love of my life, Ned. I’m sorry, it sounds so corny, but he is. He is. God, I love him… I love him… I love him so much…’

‘Oh my god…’

‘When we kissed…’

‘No. No.’

‘Ned, listen, it was even better than I imagined it could ever be. It’s… I can’t describe it. It was like… like time didn’t exist anymore.’

‘No… Peter… he’s so _ old _ … He could be your _ dad _…’

‘But he’s _ not _ . He’s _ not _.’

‘What did he do to you…’

‘He made _ love _ to me, that’s what he did’, Peter then let out a breathy laugh. ‘God, that sounded so corny, but it’s true.’

Ned almost gagged. He couldn’t listen to this. He dropped his phone onto his lap and took several deep breaths, Peter now speaking to a deaf ear. This wasn’t a fantasy anymore, this wasn’t hypothetical anymore, this wasn’t a _ game _ anymore. It had actually _ happened. _

In _ real life. _

_ No. _

Peter was going on and on. When Ned picked up his phone again, it was with a chilling, newfound lucidity.

‘Peter, listen to me right now’, he interrupted him. ‘I want you to answer all of my questions, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Were you drunk?’

‘What? No!’

‘Did he make you drink anything?’

‘God! No!’

‘Did he give you any money?’

‘Oh my god, no! No!’

‘Did he hurt you?’

‘No… Ned, please...’

‘Peter… I… Is it even _ legal? _ He’s your _ mentor! _ Do you even realize how _ wrong _ it is?’ 

‘God, I knew it… I knew it but I still hoped…’

‘Peter… listen... you’re _ sixteen _ ! This is very, _ very _wrong what he did to you.’

‘He didn’t do anything to me.’

‘He had sex with you and you’re sixteen.’

‘Almost seventeen.’

‘Oh my god, did he…’ Ned didn’t listen to him, suddenly thinking of the horrible details.

‘I loved every second of it, Ned.’

‘Oh my god… He… he did _ that _ to you?’

‘What?’ Peter honestly didn’t get what his friend meant. ‘Have you even _ listened _ to what I just said? I loved it! I love him!’

‘Did he hurt you?’

‘_ See? _ You’re not even _ listening _ to me! Why don’t you just _ listen _ to me? I said no! No, he didn’t _ hurt _ me! It did the exact opposite!’

‘First times always hurt.’

‘Listen Ned, we...we didn’t… we didn’t even take our clothes off, okay? It was just… just rubbing.’

But Ned interpreted his embarrassed hesitation the wrong way.

‘You told me you had sex.’

‘What?’

‘So did you have sex or not?’

‘It _ was _sex, I mean… we… we both... came.’ 

Suddenly, he realized he didn’t want to talk about this utmost intimate act anymore, not now that it was clear that even him, Ned, his best friend, the only person in the world he thought he could confide in, could never understand. He wasn’t even sure he could put it into words anyway. It would either come out laughable or twisted as fuck or both at the same time. 

No one would ever understand.

No one but Tony.

‘Oh my god, I can’t listen to this, I’m gonna throw up’, Ned said, and Peter took it like a knife in the heart. Yes, he was alone now.

‘Okay. Okay.’ Peter just said, trying to hold back tears.

‘I gotta google age of consent in Virginia.’

His heart was breaking, because this felt like a break-up. A betrayal without being one, not really. Because Ned was just reacting like a normal human being. He was actually being a good friend right now. 

Peter understood then. He was too different now and it had always been bound to happen. There was no point in trying to deny it. He had to let go of his normal life and that included his best friend. 

He was alone with May now, but May had to be kept in the dark. 

Which meant he was entirely alone now.

Alone without Tony.

‘Why did I keep hoping…’ he whispered to himself.

‘Oh my god…’ Ned said after a few seconds. ‘It’s _ eighteen. _ It’s eighteen in Virginia! Peter! Oh my god!’ 

Peter was surprised when he noticed he wasn’t crying. He should be right now, but he wasn’t. He was cold and it was the middle of July.

‘I’m sorry, dude, but this is fucked up. This… He had no right to touch you! And you sound… you sound brain-washed... You said you had sex with him and then you tell me it was just rubbing… And… Peter… He’s_ Tony Stark _ … I mean, have you thought about who he _ is? _He’s like, famous for using people for sex... You know all the stories!’

‘I don’t want to be alone…’ Peter said, in his own world now.

‘What? You… what? So that’s why you… you allowed him to...’

‘No, I’m not talking about him… I’m talking about you…’

‘What?’

‘But I understand. I really do. I don’t blame you. At all.’

‘Peter, what are you--’

‘I understand. You’re being a good friend and I love you for it. I love you and I’m sorry. I just hoped…’

‘Peter, what are you talking about?’

‘Bye Ned. Don’t worry, I’m gonna be okay. Please don’t tell anyone. Happy, Banner and his wife all know already anyway. You can talk to them if you want… I’m sorry.’

‘What? No, wait, don’t hang up! Peter? Peter!’

* * *

‘Hey, Maguna…’

‘Daddy!’

The first Wednesday back home was a salutary confirmation. Just what he needed. _ This _ was real life. _ His _ life. The only one he needed to have. The only one that felt _ right. _He took his little girl in his arms and span her around. She was his anchor.

There was only one thing he needed to do now: be a good dad. 

That was all he needed to be.

And that meant getting _ better. _

Getting a fucking _ grip. _

Stopping the _ madness _ from growing inside of him.

Cutting it out at the _ root. _

Yes, even if it meant cutting out a piece of himself in the process...

When he left Rappahannock through the dark and dismal woods in the early morning of July 12, words from _ Macbeth _haunted him for days.

_ What’s done cannot be undone. _

No it can’t. But the future? The future was still in his hands. At least what was given to him. He was a reasonable being. He had_ free will _, he wasn’t trapped in some kind of tragic destiny like the Thane of Cawdor —albeit the natural one every being had to go through, if you chose to define life as a mere movement towards death....

No, he had free will and he needed to use it _ well. _

He quickly decided to isolate himself for a while in order to purge the madness out and finally face what was physically happening to him but he had been denying for too long.

_ ‘Stronger’... _

_ ‘Healthier’... _

_ What’s done cannot be undone. _

After that divine, ethereal night, he fought against himself more intensely than ever before, the only thing keeping him from succumbing to the tangible temptation of the final solution being the thought of his little girl eagerly waiting for his return. And then, only after safely landing somewhere in Vermont hours after leaving Peter did he realize that his chest didn’t hurt anymore. He was in his suit, and yet it didn't hurt. Two possible explanations to this phenomenon presented themselves to him: either the pain he had felt the previous night had been superficial after all despite its vicious intensity, or he had healed extremely quickly. It also dawned on him that he hadn’t been in any pain when he and Peter had—

And yet their bodies had been pressed against one another...

_Endorphins, maybe? _

But that didn’t explain the lack of pain the following morning... And that didn't explain why the searing pain he had felt on the stairs _minutes_ before their love-making had so quickly disappeared... He felt dizzy. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind.

_ What’s done cannot be undone but I have the _ power _ and the fucking _ duty _ to get my shit back together. Come on. _

The first month was surprisingly uneventful. Calm, soothing. At least on the surface and that should be enough, he thought. He found the perfect hiding spot not far from Montpelier in the middle of the Roxbury State Forest. Vermont was perfect. Over the years, especially the crazy, irresponsible ones, he had accumulated so many secret hide-outs he couldn’t even remember half of them anymore. He had bought that one in cash completely illegally one drunken afternoon after his younger, capricious self had decided on a whim to live alone in the woods for a couple of weeks. Obadiah had outright belly-laughed at him, and sure enough, he hadn’t even lasted a couple of days before missing his luxury and Scotch too much, going back home with his tail between his legs. _ Fuck adventure, _ he remembered thinking. How old had he been then? Thirty-five, thirty-six?

At around noon on the first day, he entered the old, forgotten shed now littered with trash and covered in graffiti, and got to work. Carpentry. Hiking. Hunting. Scavenging and tinkering old tech. Theoretical musing and daydreaming. He kept himself busy and this time didn't miss his lavish lifestyle at all; maybe because he had abandonned it for years already, at least partially...

He later cut into his own thigh as an experiment and regretted it immediately._ Nope, no apparent healing powers._

He healed though. Both physically and mentally. That was how he considered his forty-seven days in Vermont that summer: convalescence.

He never texted Peter back, not even on his birthday.

Every Wednesday morning he would appear in the horizon over his Georgia home, and Morgan would run into his arms as fast as she could, their first contact always violent, and Tony would laugh at her unrepressed love and energy. She was overjoyed every single time, and their days together would pass as if nothing had happened at all, although he noticed that she had somehow become louder. She had more frequent meltdowns too. She would always cry when he left late in the evening, and her watching him fly away in his shiny suit into the pink and orange skyline turned into one of the earliest memories of her life. When he got back to his shed after his weekly day with her, he would instantly go to bed and start building stuff again the next morning for the entire next week. He tried not to think about Pepper, about her silent stares and occasional hushed whispers of worry and disapproval. He had expected it to hurt more, their separation. Maybe it was because he knew she would always be there for him. She would always be family.

Forty-seven days of solitude… perfect for a "textbook narcissist". The truth was, it felt good to be stripped of all social personas for once, to just live for himself and for himself only, to be freed from the pressure to constantly _be Tony Stark._

His mind was extraordinarily productive in such a short amount of time, and yes, he couldn’t wait to get back and visit the new compound so he could test every single one of his new theoretical visions—but not yet. He got pretty good at observing wild life and drew some ideas from it, not unlike Peter himself with his web fluid, and he even started a collection of pictures of various animals that he showed Morgan every week. She drew an animal every day for him and he hung each of her adorable drawings above his bed, the little wall soon almost entirely covered.

He didn’t need anyone to properly heal his own mind, and certainly not the Dr. Phils and Whoopi Goldbergs of the Seashell facility or whatever its ridiculous name was.

He just needed time.

_ Time… _

The first time he noticed his facial hair was growing dark again, he wasn’t in the shed. There was no mirror there. He was inside a convenience store aptly called Paradise Provisions in a tiny town called Warren. The store opened early in the morning and was run by a nice old man named Stan, tall and lean and with thick glasses that convinced Tony on his first day there that this was the perfect place to buy some food. The man looked like he couldn’t even see his own toes. The second time he had shopped there, he had basically given him a hundred-dollar tip and told him to keep the change, and the old man comically hadn't even looked at the bill before cashing it away with a polite ‘Why, thank you, young lad. Have a nice day!’ 

Hacking into the only local ATM the first week had been a piece of cake. 

There was literally nobody in the streets of Warren before 7am. He later learned from Stan that the town had almost been entirely deserted after the snap, having been particularly hit compared to others, and a lot of people simply hadn’t come back, or not yet at least. Poor old Stan himself had been blipped only to come back to find 90% of his loyal customers gone, either already long settled elsewhere or heading to where their unblipped relatives had moved during the gap.

Tony stared at the strange black hairs with white tips now covering his face in Stan’s well-polished stainless steel counter. He wasn’t really shaken by the sight at first. He just looked at his unkempt beard and frowned, trying to get a closer look in that imperfect mirror as he heard Stan slowly coming in from the backdoor. He hadn’t cared to shave for a while. The black roots were tiny but clearly visible already. They didn’t look more than a couple of days old. The skin on the right side of his face was still pink, but not the angry dark shade of pink he remembered.

‘Hey, g’morning, Stan!’

‘Oh hello, Tony!’

He hadn’t bothered to change his first name. He could have bet the old man didn’t even know what year it was.

‘Say, d’you have any mirrors here?’

‘Mirrors? Oh yes, I might have some small shaving mirrors. Follow me.’

He walked outside the store a few minutes later still strangely calm, resisting the urge to inspect his hair in the mirror. It was as if he had known all along, and in a way he had. 

He forgot to keep his head down as a car pulled up in the deserted parking lot. He had walked past a few people a couple of times already, but neither of them had realized who he was, the possibility of _ the _ Tony Stark shopping in the little store of their god-forsaken town probably too crazy for them to recognize him. But this time, the man driving the car clearly said ‘oh my god’ as he got out.

_ Shit. _

Of course he had a plan, even several ones. It wasn’t that hard; it was even easy. Smile, sign something and then pay them to keep quiet, _ a lot _ if need be; he’d done it so many times in his life already. It always worked with blue-collar guys. Thank god there were no arrogant middle-class millennials around here, and he carefully stayed away from the forest trails leading to the small college a few miles away for obvious reasons.

What he had _ not _ anticipated, however, was to see the man slowly dropping to his knees and extending his hands towards him as if he were some kind of _ god _.

_ Great, a nutjob... Clearly drunk too. Hurray… _

‘Please… Hey, buddy…’, Tony began. ‘Please, can you get up? I don’t want to attract attention to myself.’

The man apparently couldn’t speak, but then he quickly nodded.

‘You…’ he babbled, eyes crazed like those wacky born-again Christians. ‘You…’

‘Yeah me, I know, I’m pretty amazing, now would you get up?’

The man didn’t. Tony felt very uncomfortable under his revering gawking. 

‘Come on, this is ridiculous, you’re embarrassing yourself, sir...’

‘Am I dreaming? Are you real?’

‘Yeah buddy, as real as your Budweiser.’

‘I’m not drunk.’

He heard a car coming their way.

‘Right… Come on, get up and let’s go talk somewhere.’

‘Wh—what? You… You wanna talk to _ me? _ Oh my god… sir…’

Tony helped him up. The guy trembled under his touch. He didn’t smell of alcohol at all. Probably drugs, then. Or plain psychosis.

After a couple of minutes however, it turned out the guy was just a regular family man. He seemed perfectly lucid albeit deeply shaken. He was polite and well-spoken once the initial shock had worn out. The fact that he was not some local weirdo frankly scared the shit out of Tony. He was a park ranger who had lost his wife and daughter to the snap. And now he had them back. He didn’t stop crying during the entire ten minutes Tony spoke to him.

Tony tried his best to remain calm himself.

‘And so… you saved them… you saved my life... how could I ever thank you enough, I have no idea… It’s impossible… and now you’re here... do you have any idea what you mean to my family? To so many people? Because it doesn’t seem like you do at all.’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, I saved everyone, I got that, but I only did what I had to do, you know? And I wasn’t alone.’

‘You’re more than a hero. What you did… A lot of religious folks claim you were sent by God, like Jesus...’ Thank _ God _ the man was slightly laughing at his own words, clearly not religious himself or at least conscious of how ludicrous that assertion was, but he didn’t look completely unconvinced either.

‘Uh, no? I’m no Jesus, that I can assure you, but thanks. I’m flattered’, he added, cringing.

‘Well, you are to most people now. Or at least a modern version of it. Sir, you fought against a _ god _ , and you _ won. _’

‘Like I said, I wasn’t alone and that purple psycho wasn’t a _ god _ , just a very dangerous alien, now… please take this and swear to me you won’t tell anyone you saw me here this morning; alright, buddy? You’ll get more, and I mean, _ way _ more in a few days. I’m here incognito, got it?’

The guy just stared at him, and then at the bills in Tony’s outstretched left hand. He was clearly internally fighting with himself. Probably broke.

‘Sir… Sir, I can’t accept, I…’

He started welling up again. _ Shit. _

‘Hey, I got the money, okay? Now, sorry but I have to go.’

A shaking hand slowly met his.

‘Thank you… Thank you so much… God bless you...Thank you for everything… I love you…’

_ Wow, okay. _

Tony couldn’t lie to himself, he was a bit shaken afterwards, walking back to his shed with his heart beating much faster than usual. It was the first time someone reacted like that to seeing him in the flesh. Sure, he had seen hundreds of women faint upon his dramatic entrance; men babbling in front of him, trying to keep their masculine dignity intact but embarrassing themselves nonetheless; and even a few hardcore fans crying their eyes out when they met him. But this… He had never experienced straight-up _ veneration _ before_, _let alone from regular folk.

When he got back to his shed, he looked at his beard again, but this time in a proper mirror. He looked at his hairline too. He put the object down quickly.

It was a Monday. Two days to go. But why? He could just go to his little darling right now. He could go home. Go home to Pepper. God, he missed her so much and he needed her right now. He successfully diffused a panic attack, taking deep breaths with his head inside his little fridge.

He took his phone out. He had another text from Peter. The first one in six days. He never succeeded in completely ignoring them, always casting a quick glance at them and hugging Peter in his mind, his chest constricting. He shuddered.

From Peter, 8:02am: I’m sorry to bother you again but I just wanted to let you know that I understand. I’m not mad at you. Even if it’s over.

_ Of course you’re not, you’re perfect_, he thought.

Not a single minute of his conscious time here had passed without him thinking about Peter. Their night together was a month and a half ago now. It was so painful but so quietly beautiful, the process of letting someone you were in love with go for their own good —for everyone’s sake. Peter and he had simply been born too many decades apart. It was unfair and tragic, but that was how life was more often than not, for so many people —the vast majority of human beings, probably. But god, how much easier it would be had Peter been anything other than perfect… He understood. Of course he did.

Keeping a Cartesian mind was the hardest thing to do through all of this. 

Technically, he could just wait until Peter was of age everywhere. Eighteen. And then he could have him. Hell, he could have him _now _in New York. But then what? How would that play out in the long run? Because there was no way this would be just a fling. So then what? What would he tell Morgan? What message would he send her? That teenagers could be fucked by fifty year-olds without it being creepy as fuck? What choice did he have? Keep their relationship secret? Make Peter his secret love toy? Keep him hidden? Force him to twist his young life to accommodate his perversion? He didn’t want to feel ashamed of being seen with him in public. He didn’t want to inflict that on him, on his own family, on aunt hottie... God, he didn't want to freak poor aunt May out! And he didn’t want to face the looks of disgust of his own friends, because yes, the others would find out in no time… Peter and he would stress about all that, about the constant, oppressive _ public eye_; it would inevitably put pressure on their precious bond and eventually, he knew, it would wither away.

And Tony would grow older and older and older…

Peter would grow out of love. 

No, he couldn’t let that happen.

He wouldn't survive it.

_I had him though, that one night..._ he thought, smiling. Yes, he’d had him. Once. It was more than most people ever got to experience. True love, passion, soulmate tooth-rotting crap and what not… He’d_ had_ it.

Once.

All he had to do was close his eyes and remember. It was all he could do now.

He couldn’t complain. Not with the life he’d had and still had ahead of him. Not when he had the cutest, smartest little bean in the world looking up to him.

He would grow older and older and Peter… Well, no matter what, he would always protect him. He would always be there for him. He would make sure he had everything he needed to have the best possible life. He would watch him grow into an adult; heartbroken, damaged, and possibly bitter behind all his layers of selflessness, but okay. He would be okay. He couldn’t completely convince himself of that but it hurt like hell to think otherwise.

But what could he do? What the _fuck_ was he supposed to do?

He had unconsciously been rubbing his beard for a while, he realized, which brought him back to the alien treatment he was undergoing. Of course he wasn’t getting _ younger_, that was fucking _ ridiculous_. He looked at himself in the small mirror again, longer this time. His hair was growing back dark brown. All of it. What they had done to him was not only making his destroyed organs grow back. It was recreating cells everywhere, and that right there was the evidence he had been waiting for to confirm what had only been a hypothesis until then. He couldn't say he was really surprised, since it had formed in his brain the very second the alien translator had explained what they were going to do to him, but the truth was, he had never directly asked _ the _question.

_Will it make my body appear younger?_

Because it was laughable.

Oh, and because it scared the shit out of him.

Advanced regenerative medicine through artificially triggered homeostatic processes could come to that, he figured. But it could also just be a temporary reaction to his body undertaking this massive regenerative treatment. When it would be over and he would be fully _ healed_, his right arm and hand and his missing internal organs back, it would just stop. Every time he thought about his arm, he tried not to think about the guy from _ Scary Movie 2 _ with his horrible little hand, but that was frankly what he imagined was going on inside his vibranium prosthesis right now: a new arm very slowly growing back in the creepiest way imaginable. That arm had been designed for just that: slowly remolding around his growing limb.

Yikes. 

But what if he was wrong? What if _ stronger _ and _ healthier _ meant something else entirely? What if he did become physically_ younger? _What if he turned into the Hulk or something? What if he turned into—

It was hard not to see it as a divine sign he could be with Peter after all, that this love was somehow meant to be, but fortunately Tony was a man of science, not a fan of _The View_. But fuck was it hard to be an atheist sometimes... What an easy way out, to just believe in fate and pray to an imaginary friend and hope for the best... He sometimes wished he had any faith at all.

He suddenly had a flashback of his younger self.

_ ‘I shouldn't be alive... unless it was for a reason. I'm not crazy, Pepper. I just finally know what I have to do. And I know in my heart that it's right.’ _

Destiny… Fate… It was getting harder and harder not to believe in something like that and it scared the _ shit _ out of his scientific brain.

Peter was seventeen now. Seventeen... The human body normally starts degenerating somewhere between twenty-one and twenty-six... How fucked up —and hilarious— would it be if he reverted back to the body of his twenty-something year-old self?

He texted Pepper, letting her know he was coming home, and then finally, he called him.

Peter didn’t pick up. And so Tony spent one final day in this lovely forest, waiting for the younger man to call him back. He did a little before 2pm.

_That breathing…_ _Déjà vu._

It was the hardest thing he ever had to do.

‘Hey Pete…’

‘Hey.’

_ Breathe. _

‘I’m sorry… I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.’

‘It’s okay. I understand.’

He understood. 

‘Listen…’

‘You don’t have to say it’, Peter cut him off. ‘I told you. I understand. I’m not mad.’

Tony didn’t reply for a moment.

‘How are you?’ he asked the boy.

‘I’m good.’

This was wrong. This was right. Which one was it again?

‘How are _you?’_ Peter returned the question.

How was Tony supposed to keep control when he sounded like that? Like… like… like _ Peter. _

‘Peter…’

Peter closed his eyes. He was crying, but silently. He was too used to it now. Numb.

‘Tony…’

‘You understand…’

‘I understand…’

‘Morgan…’ Tony began but had to stop for a second. ‘I have a daughter. I’m a dad now. Before everything else.’

Peter smiled. ‘I know. I love you for that too.’

_ Holy shit, I can’t do this_, Tony thought.

‘Are you still in Rappahannock?’

There was a beat.

‘No.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’m back in New York. Back to patrolling. It helps. There are… worse fates than mine.’

_ Fate… _

‘And I mean…', Peter went on, 'I’m not saying I have the perfect life because I don’t but… who has? And I’ve got May. I’m good, really. Don’t worry for me.’

‘Are you back in school?’ Tony cringed at his own words. Because yes, Peter was still a kid.

‘No. I can’t. I’ll be homeschooled.’

‘Yeah... sorry.’

‘S’okay.’

There was a long silence.

‘I’ll get over it’, Peter added.

Tony did his best to remain perfectly silent, but_ fuck _ did that hurt. 

‘You were right’, the younger man went on. ‘I’m just a teenager. I’ll get over it’, he repeated, and Tony opened his eyes, frowning. ‘I thought… I thought I loved you like that… but I’m confused... I know that now… I think with time… Yeah, I’ll get over you.’

Tony clasped his hand over his mouth. Was he saying that to _provoke_ him? To let him out of his shell? To make him _ lose it _ again? Was this his plan? Was this a test? Or was he being honest… No, no he couldn’t be honest right now, he couldn't be... But wasn’t it what he wanted? Wasn’t that his main goal? For them to grow apart? For Peter to _ move on? _What had he thought? That the kid would stay desperately in love with him for his entire life?

For the first time, Tony realized that yes, deep down, he had expected exactly just that. Yes, he was the most legendary selfish prick of all time for good reasons. What a fucking asshole he was!

_But this soon…_

‘You still there?’ Peter asked. ‘I’m sorry if that hurt. I don’t wanna hurt you but…’

Something about his voice didn’t feel right.

‘No. I’m glad’, Tony managed to say. ‘I was scared to tell you but yeah, this obviously can’t go on.’

‘Okay.’

After another stretch of silence, Peter betrayed himself. It wasn’t really his words per se, it was the tone with which he said them.

‘Are you back with your wife?’

Tony pretended he didn’t hear the pain.

‘No. But I’m going home. To my daughter.’

Peter didn’t say anything back.

‘I’ll see you around. Maybe in the new compound’, Tony added.

‘No. I’m out. It’s better if we never see each other again, I think.’

Again, it sounded fake. Too drastic. Too dramatic. But Tony went along with it.

‘You’re right. You can keep the suit, though.’

‘It was destroyed in Europe. I designed a new one and actually, I’m designing another one right now.’

_ Oh. Oh? _

‘So... I don't need you anymore. I… I wouldn’t mind getting some funding, though…’

_Oh, so you do need me_, Tony bitterly thought.

‘Anyth—' he started saying but stopped himself. 'That’s not a problem.’

‘Thanks.’

Neither of them wanted to end the call.

‘You know… let’s focus on the good stuff.’ Tony broke the painful silence. ‘The memories.’

Peter didn’t reply, and then...

‘I lied.’

‘You—’

‘I’ll never stop loving you.’

‘Gosh, Pete…’

‘I don’t know if I can do this…’

‘Do— do what...’

‘I told Ned... He… he can’t understand. Like Bruce...’

‘What? What did you just say?’

‘Yeah… he’s known for a while now, sorry… I didn't mean to freak you out... Don't worry, he... he agreed to keep it private.’

‘You didn’t mean to— What the _ fuck_, Pete! _Banner_ _knows?’_ Tony was suddenly shouting. ‘What the hell happened? And don’t tell me you played truth or dare!’

‘I didn’t… he saw you...’

_‘What?’_

‘That night... He just saw you and followed you… He saw _us_…’

‘_Shit! _Fuck no, that’s impossible!’

‘He can’t really look at me now… not like before…’

‘Pete, you should’ve _ told _ me! What were you _ thinking? _ You can’t keep that sort of stuff from me, d’you hear me_?'_

‘Well I guess you should’ve thought of this before you came to me, before you literally _ walked _ across the _ backyard _ right in front of the _ manor!_’

‘No... I scanned the entire property before I made it to the cottage... They were both upstairs in their rooms! Banner and your aunt! Their rooms were both facing West! And Charlie... He was in his cottage...’

‘Well, that’s what Bruce told me anyway. He said he was right in the middle of the yard when you showed up.’

‘Right in the middle of— _ holy fucking shit! _ I... I hesitated for too long... Fuck, I remember now... I almost went back... I, I was too… God, how could I be so fucking _ careless! _ I should’ve checked again, I should’ve tagged them, I should've... _Shit,_ I shouldn’t’ve come at all!’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘And now he must think of me as… as some kind of…’

‘Pervert. Rapist. Yeah. That’s definitely what he thinks now.’

Tony was stunned at Peter’s bluntness.

‘He’s right… ’ he muttered to himself after a moment.

‘Yeah, he’s right’, Peter repeated, having perfectly heard him. Tony froze. ‘And _ I _ am a twisted, brain-washed child. Oh and you totally took advantage of me using my tragic past to make me love you. Not to mention you’re a renowned sex offender. The only reason you’re not already in jail is because you’re rich as fuck, rich and powerful, not to mention white and probably a repressed pedophile, but not so repressed now, huh? I should’ve known better but hey, as I said, I’m a twisted child with daddy issues so I actually loved it. That’s why I keep defending you. Oh, and I’m going through puberty right now so I have no idea what I’m doing because puberty makes you drunk, or high, or unable to properly think anyway, especially for gay teens... we’re particularly dumb and crazy. And twisted. Twisted little perverts. I’m a little pervert. Did I mention how twisted I am?

‘Peter…’

‘_Ergo _ I need extensive therapy, and _ you _ need to basically die, which is perfect since you’re suicidal! Because little perverts still have a chance, you see. Old perverts need to _ die. _ Oh, and my favorite part: we had sex many times before that night and you love to call yourself daddy. And since Bruce heard it with his own ears since he fucking spied on us that night —but that’s totally okay given the circumstances— since he heard you say ‘no sex tonight, daddy’s not in the mood’, it’s actually proof you’ve been taking advantage of me for a long, long time, and I need to stop lying and admit you’ve been raping me on a regular basis since… well since way before the snap because otherwise none of this would make any sense, right? So way, _ way _before... just after we first met, probably... when I was _fifteen.’_

‘Peter, stop.’

‘So yeah, you’re a disgusting human being and who cares if you’re suicidal? You deserve—’

Peter stopped dead when he realized Tony had hung up. 

Tony had hung up. 

He instantly couldn’t breathe, regretting every word he had spat into his phone during this unplanned, frantic breakdown. Suicide shot up in his mind as a very real, immediate, viable possibility. If Tony did it right now because of him, he knew he would do it too with absolute certainty. He stared at his phone. Seconds later, it lit up with another call.

Tony was calling him back.

‘Okay, let’s cut the bullshit, honey’, the older man instantly said. ‘Listen to me _ very carefully_. I’m not going to kill myself and neither are you.’

_ Honey? _

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Shush! Just shut up and listen. I love you. You hear me? _ I love you. _ Always will, but we can’t. We _can't._ That’s it, that’s all it is. Bruce is right in so far as this is _ illegal _ and _ creepy as hell _ to anyone other than us and we can't change that. There’s no point in trying to deny this. I don’t blame him for thinking that and we can’t change _society_. We can't just pretend we live in a bubble, it doesn't _work_ like that. I wish we could but we can’t.’

‘I know… I know… I’m sorry.’

‘I told you to shut up, I’m not done.’

‘Okay, sorry.’

‘Stop saying that word, every time you say it I can see you dissolve to death so that’s a little uncomfortable for me, alright? God, I’m still trying to even process the fact that you’re _alive_. You dying right under my nose haunted me for _years_ so yeah, don’t say that word. Thanks. What was I saying… yeah, we _can’t._ What more is there to say? Oh yeah, you turned seventeen three weeks ago, yeah, I didn’t forget, how the fuck could I, the thing is, it’s not gonna change anything. It's not. We’re still gonna be several _decades_ _apart in age_, so it’s _still_ gonna be creepy.’

‘But it’ll be legal.’ 

‘I said zip it, kiddo! I have a _ daughter!_ You hear me? Did you forget about that? _I_ am a _ father_. What am I gonna tell my own kid? How am I gonna explain this to her? _This?_ _Us?_ You gotta help me there because I’m having a hard time imagining anything other than a fucking mess if we keep this up and especially for her. I’m not even gonna talk about my company, or the media, because quite frankly I don’t really give a shit about either of them but here’s one thing I know: I don’t want my kid to grow up with a dad in his _ sixties _ fucking someone in his _ twenties_, someone who could be her _ brother_. So here we are, Pete, here we are... Like I said… I don’t… Listen, I don’t regret what we did… I don’t. Whatever I may have said before, I really don’t. And since I’m in the mood for intimate confessions, wanna know something? It was… It was one of the best nights of my life. Maybe the best... Nah-ha! Zip it, remember? Don’t say anything... just don't... It’s over. It’s over, Peter. It’s over. It _ has _ to be. Do you understand? And I mean _really?’_

Peter swallowed. He didn’t know what he wanted most, to cry in despair or laugh for joy.

‘Yes.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course you do, you perfect little—’

‘Little what?’

Tony didn’t answer him. They didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Peter broke the silence with a very intentional jab.

‘Mr. Stark?’ 

Tony was taken aback. _Did he just call me Mr. Stark? That_... was a fucking tongue-in-cheek provocation. 

‘Yeah, _ kid?’ __  
_

‘Can we stay friends?’

‘Honestly? No. No, I don’t think we can. I can’t… couldn’t…’

‘Okay.’

Peter weirdly didn’t feel devastated at that moment. He could sense Tony’s heartbreak and that alone made him feel powerful. More powerful than was reasonable. Too confident, perhaps. It meant that hope wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

‘I’m sorry, Pete.’

‘I’m sorry too. Oh shit, sor— shit.’

‘I think we should both hang up now.’

‘Yeah… seems appropriate.’

‘Bye, kid.’

‘Goodbye, _ Mr. Stark.’ _

‘Brat’, Tony fired back. ‘Don’t kill yourself’, he added in a rush right before hanging up, and it made Peter chuckle. 

They were in love with each other, and even if they couldn’t _ be _ with one another, they had that. They had that shared truth and it should be enough.

* * *

**September 19, 2023**

‘Not yet.’

‘_When… _’

‘Soon.’

‘Look, you told me that a _ month _ ago.’

‘And I _ meant _it. Another week and we’re out. You gotta trust me on this.’

‘That Russian guy… the _ Chameleon _… you sure he’s legit?’

‘Positive.’

‘I guess I’ll believe it when I see it… I gotta tell you, Black’s getting impatient. He’s been ready to pounce on the girlfriend for ages now.’

‘Then tell him to find his satisfaction _ elsewhere. _’

Gargan cackled at that.

‘Listen, if this works, man…’

‘This _ is _gonna work.’

‘Then it’ll be fucking _ epic _.’

Toomes just smiled.

‘Either way I got at least five different guys ready to fucking murder his entire family if anything goes wrong’, Gargan grinned.

‘Beck’s family?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Unnecessary. He’s legit too. My crew double-checked.’

‘Who in your crew… that Doc guy?’

Toomes didn’t answer immediately, a moment of fleeting unease that Gargan unfortunately didn’t miss.

‘He helped.’

‘So… you still have no idea who he is, huh?’

‘Otto Octavius’, Toomes smugly replied. Gargan lifted his brow. ‘A nuclear physicist from MIT.’

‘No fucking way.’

‘I’m serious. He got blipped and his wife and son both died during the gap. He tried to contact the Avengers to understand what the fuck happened, the science of it, to know what they’d done, but of course no one gave a shit about anything he had to say. Let’s just say he didn’t take it well. He suspected the time travel shit way before Beck revealed it. He was already working for us then.’

‘To get to Stark.’

‘Yeah. Look, I’m not gonna lie to you... I know how much you wanna get your hands on the kid and I want to as much as you do… but first we gotta be careful. We need a proper plan and we _ need _ to _ work together, _ and I mean _ all of us _ if we wanna stand a chance against the Avengers. And yeah, if we get our hands on Stark… let’s just say that’d be a pretty substantial bonus, don’t you think?’

Gargan was nodding. ‘Stark’s weak. Easy target.’

‘The kid’s not. He’s anything but weak and he’ll have help.’

‘And we’ll have the tech to match them.’

‘Right. There’s still some work to do but yeah… we’re close.’

‘How close.’

‘Close enough.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some timeline errors now fixed + last third of the chapter improved (12.13.19).


	25. Swell

Peter tore his eyes away from his phone and turned onto his other side, pulling the large comforter over his shoulder. God, he loved that bed. He loved how _ nested _ he felt everytime he slipped under the covers after another long night of patrolling. He even almost dozed off again; but of course he didn’t. There was no way he could get any more sleep now, not after having finally heard _ his _ voice after so many weeks. Not after that conversation. He didn’t want to get up, though.

It was two in the afternoon, the muffled sounds of bustling, busy New York City comforting to his ears. His eyes opened after a moment. He lazily gazed up at the work of art on the wall facing him. It was an ink wash drawing of a tree bent by wind. He didn’t know why, but he was strangely drawn to it. Maybe it was simply because the framed picture was directly facing him any time he turned onto his right side in his bed. Or maybe it was just because it was stunning. Anyway, he never got tired of admiring it as well as a few other gorgeous paintings and small sculptures that were scattered in this crazy place he was supposed to call home now. He wondered how much it was worth. Hundreds, or _ thousands _ of dollars? What if it was even more than that? It wouldn’t even surprise him at this point.

He closed his eyes again and buried himself deeper into his little nest, the bending tree still imprinted in his head. Was it about to snap, the force of the wind too strong even for its large, majestic trunk? Or was it unbreakable—able to just bend and survive the storm unscathed? He tried to focus his tormented mind solely on that imaginary tree but felt the tears finally escaping his eyes anyway. 

Silently, almost unconsciously, he made up his mind. 

_ I’ll make him bend. _

_ ‘I love you. You hear me? I love you.’ _

He had power. Power over him. Sure, they would never be together like a normal couple, but yes, he could make him bend, he was sure of it. A voice in the back of his head warned him of how wrong that idea was but he ignored it. 

_ I’ll make him bend. Yes, I’ll make him bend again.... again… God, make me live it again… it doesn’t matter when… just give me one more night… only one more... even if it means waiting _ ** _years_ ** _ for it to happen… _

_ I’ll wait. _

September flew by before he knew it. In the middle of an uneventful patrol in Central Park he watched some leaves swirl across a vast expanse of grass and thought: _ so soon? But they’re still green! _

And so time went by. 

October was a tiny bit more colorful but hardly any colder. Summer seemed to drag on, New Yorkers not even bothering to put a coat on even during the last week leading to Halloween. Ned invited him to his Tim Burton-themed party and he politely declined. It rained a lot in Manhattan that day. 

It was already 3pm and he was still in bed. _ Damn. _ Well, night patrols were demanding. Police officers and emergency responders were understaffed after 11pm and so he helped them as best as he could. He rarely patrolled during the day anymore. He couldn’t get any sleep during the night anyway, so he figured he might as well make his nights useful. May was worried—very worried. She was fine though. She couldn’t feel at home in here either, but she was fine. They had moved in on August 16 but it still felt like yesterday. _ More than two months now, wow... _ She still complained that she felt too _uncomfortable_ in this ridiculous place paid for by Stark Industries, but he knew she enjoyed the luxury nonetheless. How couldn’t she? Even _ he _enjoyed it, he couldn’t lie, and not just his bed. 

Watching the heavy rain pleasantly hit the large window pane of his room —poor trick-or-treaters— he suddenly remembered Uncle Ben reading him a Halloween bedtime story involving a deal with the devil. He must have been eight or nine. He couldn’t recall all the details, but what he did remember about that story made him think of his new life here—eternal solitude in exchange for a life wrapped up in gold…

May barely saw any of her friends anymore, and none of them knew where they lived.

They were hiding in plain sight in the Nolita neighborhood —North of Little Italy— in the historical building that used to house the New York City Police Department headquarters until the seventies. It was a sumptuous building whose lobby looked like the interior of a freaking Disney castle—not that Peter ever went down and used the front door. They were right at the top, inside the clock tower that had been renovated into a domed cupola penthouse. Tony Stark had discreetly acquired it from Calvin Klein in 2016 for a little over $27.9 million. Naturally, the billionaire had bought the entire building with it. They had far more space than they could possibly ever need and the penthouse even included a freaking garden on a large terrace that looked imported from an Italian palace. A middle-aged Indian guy named Arjun was assigned as their ‘personal assistant’, which basically meant that he was here to keep the place clean and cater to their everyday needs. He looked like an aristocrat despite his position, and held himself with such grace that he didn’t even look real. Just like that place.

‘No. No, that’s not right. Absolutely not.’

During their first month there, May had daily rants over the phone with Happy to try and get him to put them in a more reasonable apartment, but after weeks of the same conversation leading absolutely nowhere, she just gave up. _ ‘It’s a safety issue’ _, Happy kept repeating over and over, unfaltering. 

Peter didn’t protest like May though, even if the perfect, mahogany and ivory cream interior design did nothing to appease his restlessness and melancholy. 

It reminded him of Rappahannock. 

He remained withdrawn and silent. The only time he was brought out of his quiet and passive disapproval was when he was told that Stark Industries had rendered the entirety of Manhattan effectively drone-free through advanced scanning and stealth interception technology. Happy tried to downplay the whole thing.

_ ‘Listen kid, with invisible drones potentially following you home after your patrols, we just can’t afford not to secure the whole area! But it’s really no big deal, I’m telling you. Don’t worry, it’s just advanced interception tech; drones were pretty much illegal there already so… yeah… no big deal there.’ _

The Head of Security added that they were currently battling with the NSA to expand the protocol to the entire State of New York, but the complex negotiations and legal issues were apparently a downright nightmare. _ Good, _ Peter thought, the idea of such a demonstration of mass surveillance and military control making him feel even more uneasy. He was simply _ astounded _ that the United States government had even considered allowing SI to do this in an entire New York district just so that _ he _, a seventeen year-old from Queens, could go on patrolling and living his life as he used to. Because that was what it truly was about, he thought. He could have gone to the new compound and May with him. He could have stayed locked up in there, constantly waiting for some major threat to come up, but no. They had bent the United States government just to accommodate his needs.

Not once did either of them mention Tony.

‘Listen, it’s just so we can test our new tech, okay?’, Happy had brought him back to earth.

November brought the first cold, rainy days, and in the warm comfort of the sumptuous penthouse, slowly but surely, May finally started to relax and even called it home once. She would spend most of her time in the dreamy living room inside the cupola itself, reading books under the splendid curvy stairs leading to her domed bedroom. She couldn’t really work anymore, at least not out of the apartment. People would harass and question her. And so, instead, she started writing.

‘What a gorgeous prison!’ she exclaimed one day.

Peter would join her every afternoon to study at the dining table they had put there —who the hell needed so many sofas anyway?—, and they would both read and work in silence while sipping hot tea, before he left her to work on his Spider-Man suits in the study he had transformed into his own little workshop.

He completed his senior year with a perfect GPA in a little over two months, even receiving an award for it, making May glow with pride. In his forced solitude, he came to realize that he had always somehow restricted his own intelligence before, not wanting to seem weird, seeking social normalcy and acceptance from his peers instead of academic prestige. Now that he had lost that forever anyway, he was free to let go, and that was what he did. In every single email of congratulations he received from his former teachers at Midtown Tech, he was vehemently urged to apply to MIT. His only response was: ‘_ I’ll think about it’. _ The truth was, he didn’t let himself reach his full potential in order to enter a good college faster at all; quite the opposite in fact. He only did it so that he could finally rid himself from school altogether and devote his entire time to being Spider-Man. Of course he didn’t tell May that, but he had a feeling she was fully aware of it, especially when he caught her staring at him with sadness and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

‘What’s on your mind?’ he asked her one day. It took her a moment to answer, and by the time she did, her eyes were filled with tears.

‘I couldn’t protect you.’

He hated it, having to lie. He hated it so very much. But he couldn’t bear it when she started blaming herself for everything, as if she could have stopped him from breaking into that lab and becoming the mutant he was now. He never thought back on that day; he didn’t have to and he didn’t want to. What happened had just… happened. And now he had to live with it. What use was there to wallow on a past he couldn’t change? He had been a kid then, through and through; excited to no end by his crazy new powers and yet… scared shitless from the get-go and trying really hard to deny it. He sometimes remembered the first twenty-four hours. December 12 and December 13, 2015. By some strange miracle, May hadn’t come home from a date that night, and so he had writhed about moaning and screaming in hot pain as his body endured its metamorphosis, with metal blasting loud in his bedroom so that no-one would notice anything strange going on. He remembered being 100% positive then that he was dying. A couple of neighbors complained the next morning and that was it. And now he was stronger than any other living creature—well, almost any— and he led the life of a billionaire. 

A lonely, heart-broken, miserable billionaire with superpowers.

_ Tony... _

He spent hours with the Iron Spider suit in his own little space, studying Tony’s creation, _ deconstructing _ it, drawing hypotheses and ideas from it. He had a ton of questions and ideas but he was lacking the equipment and Tony himself to actually make any of them work. He considered calling Happy to get some specific stuff but decided against it. No, he would get where he needed to _ himself _ , even if it meant working like a mad man for years. He thought about Quantum time travel too. A lot. Trying to get inside Tony’s brain became not only a hobby but an _ obsession _ . He immersed himself into advanced electrical engineering and computer science textbooks, unknowingly very soon reaching a level far beyond that of MIT engineering _ and _ physics undergraduates. 

He returned all of May’s hugs but never sought them, almost taking them as a chore. The secret burning love that was consuming him felt like the most horrible lie, and it weighed on his shoulders even more when she got cuddly with him. She eventually noticed him recoiling from her touch and after a while, she stopped touching him altogether. 

He designed and built from scratch a cute little dog robot for her birthday with advanced programming and motricity. She called it Toto, like the dog in the Wizard of Oz.

He couldn’t bear watching TV anymore, although he had never been an avid consumer of it to begin with, by far preferring books and Lego. He was always at risk of seeing himself suddenly appear on screen, or rather, of succumbing to the dark temptation of flicking to the wrong channel just to get a taste of the _ hate _ everybody had tried to protect him from. He had learned about all the crazy theories and rumors largely triggered by Beck himself one sleepless night, blankly listening to an agitated pundit explaining to his audience that they shouldn’t be that childish and actually _ believe _ that people like Iron Man and Spider-Man were just selfless heroes out there fighting for the common good. It turned out Ned had seriously downplayed the number of people adhering to conspiracy theories that depicted him as the brainwashed protégé or full-on accomplice of the megalomaniac and power-thirsty Tony Stark. 

_ Tony… _

It was very strange to see his lover’s face serving as an illustration to the venomous speech of a man basically accusing him of being evil, of being ultimately responsible for all the horrors that had happened to humanity in the last decade. Realizing that so many people regarded Beck as a heroic victim made him sick to his stomach.

_ Tony Stark... _

He usually slept between 5am and 1pm.

At least when he was able to.

He never took Ned’s calls, sending him short and vague text messages instead, and after a while, his friend stopped trying. He did receive weekly news from him, though—news from Midtown Tech and his old life there. MJ was more unsociable than ever. A pair of cops followed them both everywhere and it was _‘getting old’_, even though every single student now looked at them as if they were the coolest people in the world. _‘Not gonna lie, it feels kinda good’, _Ned had written. Flash had finally learned how to shut up and was weirdly quiet now, _‘like a totally different person’_. Peter read each of his texts with an aching heart. 

Happy never contacted him directly again, talking to May on the phone instead. He never asked whether they were truly broken up or not, and he had a feeling they weren’t—not really, at least. 

The only person who kept trying to call him was Bruce. He never picked up.

He wasn’t the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man anymore. Either people nearly fainted upon seeing him, or they would just stare, stunned, sometimes with an unreadable expression on their faces. He found himself counting the number of positive reactions he got every night, relief washing over him any time someone would whoop or yell kind words at him just like in the old days. 

And then there were the outright bad reactions...

‘Don’t you fucking touch me _ freak, _ get back!’

‘Ma’am, I’m just trying to h—‘

‘I said get the fuck back! I don’t need your help!’

‘Yeah, we know who you really are! Stop pretending to be a hero and go back to sucking Stark’s dick!’

_ Wow. _

_ Ouch. _

He had never gotten such violent and hostile reactions before, except for that one drunk homeless guy so many months—no... _ years _ ago. Now they occurred almost every night. He always stayed calm and polite, although he couldn’t help adding a little cockiness now and then while helping the reluctant victims. He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed it a little bit when they would visibly feel unsettled and embarrassed when he didn’t react aggressively to their insults at all, helping them anyway instead.

It was hard, though. 

On one of the first freezing nights of November 2023, a suicidal man full-on accused him and the Avengers of having provoked Thanos into snapping his fingers. Peter didn’t understand at first. He was a regular guy. He even looked like a teacher. He wore glasses and a checkered shirt and was well-spoken which was an unsettling contrast with the hateful tone in which he spoke. He was completely convinced that everything had been their fault, even quoting Stephen Hawking in the process—the famous physicist having apparently remarked before his death that without Stark’s revolutionary tech, mankind wouldn’t have attracted the attention of dangerous alien species in the first place. It had been way easier to get abuse thrown at him by obviously uneducated people, but that night... that night Peter _ snapped. _

‘You think I wanted to _ die?’ _he spat at the man through his mask. 

‘I’m not saying you did it on purpose. I’m just saying you’re a _ plague _. All of you.’

‘How— how can you say that? We _ saved _ you!’

‘No. You just fixed your own mistakes. Stark did. That’s what he _ does. _ He creates chaos and then _ fixes _ it, expecting all of us to fucking _ worship _ him for it, and since people are fucking _ dumb, _that’s exactly what they do; they buy the fairytale. Well _ I _ don’t. I’m not as _ dumb _ as you want us to be. What I’m wondering now is... are _ you _ just a naive follower? Or are you just as evil as he is...’

That night he almost became a murderer. Looking back, it had all probably come to sleep deprivation and depression, and it made him shudder to think that he had found himself an instant away from slipping to the other side. 

He grabbed the man by the throat and stopped himself from crushing it between his fingers at the very last second. He watched him collapse onto the ground of the rooftop, and listened to him cough profusely, shocked at his own loss of control. He left without another word.

He couldn’t sleep at all when he got back to the penthouse.

* * *

**Friday, November 27, 2023**

Mr. Robert Venters was a cautious man—one of the requirements of his position as Bureau Chief of Facility Operation at Rikers Island Correctional Facility. He always held himself with a straight back, good posture adding to his aura of authority and command, at least until he passed the final check-out leading to the prison parking lot and could finally rid himself of the tiring persona his job required. His shoulders slumped and he let out a sigh. He was fucking exhausted. He opened his car door, got inside and took a well-earned sip of whiskey from the little flask he kept in his glove compartment while starting the engine, the familiar chatter of the usual 5 o’clock NPR show filling his comfortable car and feeling like home. Today’s topic was mass surveillance.

He abruptly died ten minutes later. 

‘_Fuck! _ You said no killing! _ Damn!’ _ Shocker cried out.

‘I lied’, Pitch Black simply replied after unceremoniously putting a bullet in the poor man’s head. ‘Now shut up and take care of the body. Clock’s ticking.’ 

Nobody moved. 

The murderer looked back and forth between the two men here with him, looking increasingly agitated.

‘What you’re looking at, Commie?’ he spat at the dark-haired and dark-eyed Russian one who was currently throwing him a murderous glare. He stepped towards him, stopping inches from his face. ‘Got a problem with this?’ 

‘No’, the Russian replied in a deep flat voice, not breaking eye-contact even for a fraction of a second.

‘Then fucking _ move.’ _

But Dmitri Smerdyakov didn’t. Shocker put his hand on his own gun, watching the two of them with cold dread, ready to shoot at the Russian to protect his American ally. He didn’t have to use it though. Still boring into his eyes, the skin of the Chameleon suddenly began to move, shifting and readjusting in a surreal metamorphosis that soon left the murderer staring right at his victim’s face, right into his accusing, glassy eyes, effectively making his inhumane heart stop for a second.

‘Wow. You didn’t lie.’

‘No’, the Russian uttered again but now in Robert Venters’s voice.

Shocker let out an incredulous laugh. ‘Oh _shit_… Not gonna lie, I wasn’t sure about this but now… _Damn!’_

Dmitri Smerdyakov entered Rikers Island without batting an eyelash. He passed security without anyone even moving, pressed his hand against the fingerprint scanner looking bored, walked straight to the administration’s office, sat at Mr. Venters’s desk and soon printed a piece of paper.

‘Bobby? Did you forget something?’

He didn’t say anything, just handed the dead man’s secretary the paper he had just printed.

‘What’s—’, she paused, reading it for a few seconds. ‘Oh my… _ Really? Them? _What in the… okay…’

He sighed heavily and ran a tired hand across his face like the well-trained actor he was. ‘Just make it quick Helen, I’m _exhausted_…’ he said in a perfect Brooklyn accent.

* * *

‘Gargan, Toomes. Check-up.’

The monotonous voice resounded way too loudly through the worn-out speakers of the quiet prison library. 

_ All according to plan, _ Toomes thought with a thrill of excitement.

‘Is everything alright?’, Little Vaughn immediately asked him. Being called for a check-up at almost 5pm and alone with Gargan? It was just _ weird. _

‘Yeah, it’s nothing. You stay here. I’ll be right back’, he replied, failing to sound completely casual. He left the library with the young man following him a few feet away, too deep in thought and high with adrenaline to notice him.

Gargan was in the yard when he heard the order. He sat up in the middle of one of his daily abs exercises and smiled. _ Fucking finally, _ he thought with a mix of relief, excitement and exasperation. He had been waiting for _ months _ for this, giving shit to Toomes for the long wait. His team had kept pushing it back again and again and now it was _ finally happening. _

It all happened very fast. When Toomes reached the empty corridor leading to the infirmary, he was met by a couple of correctional officers who seemed uneasy, agitated even. They handcuffed him without a word and led him the opposite way towards another corridor they never had access to. He spotted Gargan there with another pair of COs who were louder than his. He caught a few words. ‘No way!’ one of them exclaimed, pissed off. ‘Yeah, this is a fucking joke’, the other replied. Gargan’s eyes met his as he approached him and they slightly squinted in barely suppressed glee. The four officers eventually led both of them out of the building, crossing a restricted yard leading to the administration’s offices.

‘Fucking bullshit’, the CO on Toomes’s right uttered under his breath.

Right at that moment the alarm rang out. The four COs froze, looked at each other, then at Gargan, then at Toomes, then at each other again, and just when Gargan threw him a glance with a chilling smile, the entire fucking yard _ vanished. _

The ground, the buildings, the sky itself—there was _ nothing _ left.

‘Whoo! What—What the fuck! I can’t see! I can’t see! Chuck! Denis! What the fuck! I—I think I’m hallucinating!’

Everything was pitch black now, with occasional surreal streaks of dark blue wheezing by. Suddenly, Toomes could see the men around him again, as well as the buildings, albeit with an eerie dark blue filter over them. All four COs were holding their own heads and trying in vain to close and re-open their eyes, thinking their own brains were the source of the trickery. Gargan nodded at him. Toomes didn’t wait. He kneed one of them in the balls. Gargan grabbed another one from behind with his handcuffed hands and snapped his neck, killing him instantly. Toomes couldn’t help but flinch a little. They had explicitly agreed not to murder anyone if not strictly necessary. _ Fuck… well, I guess this is an emergency... _ They soon easily stole two guns from the other two COs apparently completely blinded by the illusion. Gargan instantly shot the one Toomes had hit in the sack. The writhing man abruptly stopped moving. 

BANG, BANG, BANG! Gunshots were now being fired at them. All four remaining men instantly ducked and lay on the ground, the sound deafening. When he opened an eye, Toomes saw Gargan aiming at the head of one of the two remaining COs. 

‘Don’t!’ he managed to say but too late. Gargan pulled the trigger inches from his temple, splattering his brains everywhere before aiming at the other one.

‘Please! No! Pl—’

BANG.

‘Fucking move!’ Gargan then shouted at him, completely unfazed. He managed to crawl out of the way, following the cold-blooded murderer under crossfire, where to, he had no idea. But then he saw it:_ the way out. _Men were shouting everywhere.

‘I can’t see shit!’

‘Wh—what’s happening?’

‘Jesus Christ!’

‘I can’t see! I can’t see!’

Right before they reached the small building they were aiming at another round was fired, and then Toomes heard it, faint but clear over the racket: Little Vaughn’s voice.

‘Toomes! Wait! Wait! Don’t shoot!’

He froze. He turned around and saw him, blindly staggering across the yard, the fucking idiot.

‘Get down!’ he shouted at the kid, sudden hot fear for him shooting up his veins. ‘Get down!’ 

‘Toomes! I can’t see! Take me with you! Take—’

BANG.

He managed to keep a straight face and his feet didn’t stop. He didn’t stop, but couldn’t hear anything, a sudden ringing in his ears rendering him deaf. At one point he saw Gargan shouting something angrily at him but he couldn’t hear him. He just stared at him, not reacting at all. Gargan hit him hard on the head, and then he could suddenly hear him again.

‘Still with me? I said _ where _ is your _ fucking guy? _ We’re _ trapped!’ _

‘Here.’

They both jumped.

‘Follow me’, Mr. Venters said.

Even once they were securely heading North in a fucking _ invisible helicopter _ , Toomes still couldn’t talk. Hatred filled his heart at the sight of a beaming Gargan and at his filthy scorpion tattoo on the side of his neck. He stared at it for a long time from the back of the helicopter cabin, Gargan in the front passenger’s seat. They could have just escaped, leaving the confused COs there, but no, that fucking psycho had felt the need to _ kill _ , of course he had. Everything would have happened smoothly if he hadn’t done that _ . _ No shots would have been fired, _ according to the fucking plan. _

And Little Vaughn would still be alive.

_ I’m gonna kill him, _he simply decided.

Sometime before noon that day on the other side of the ocean, in a spectacular demonstration of internationally synchronized high security prison break, Quentin Beck was also finally free.

* * *

‘I’m sorry, Quentin, but this is _ exactly _ what we all feared the most, and you _ knew _ it.’

‘Janice…’

‘No, this is where we draw the line. We can’t go on, I’m sorry. We— we get the whole necessary evil rhetoric but this… Look, we all wish the rest of you the best of luck for the rest of the mission, but Quentin, we’re out.’

The expression on Quentin Beck’s face shifted. He visibly relaxed, but nothing about that fact made the others relax too, quite the contrary.

‘You know what? You’re all cowards’_ , _he said, more in a disappointed tone than an aggressive one.

‘You know what, Quentin? Maybe we are’, Janice boldly replied, holding herself straight. ‘But we’re not _ actual criminals. _We’re activists, we’re whistle blowers, not murderers; there’s a difference, believe it or not.’

Quentin was slowly shaking his head, looking down. Janice went on.

‘Listen Quentin, yes, we all knew this fight for justice would be hard, that there would be some necessary casualties, but teaming up with _ gang leaders? _ Accepting _ drug money? _ No.’

Beck finally reacted to her words. He _ laughed. _

‘You’re not criminals? Are you even _ listening _ to yourself? You’re not criminals? What about all those random citizens in Venice? In Prague? In London? You _ totally _ are criminals now, _ come on. All of you _ are! Because that’s what they want us to _ think _ about ourselves! That we _ do _ have a choice! That this isn’t a _ war! _ That this is _ terrorism! _ ’ He was fuming now, agitating his hands to mark his words, spitting. ‘They want you to think that _ nothing can be done _ , that you should just stay home and watch TV and believe all the _ lies_, that true activism and terrorism are one and the same thing!’

‘It’s drug money, Quentin! Drug and weapon and human trafficking!’

_‘So what?_ _The end justifies the means, Quentin, _who told me that? Who the fuck told me that, Janice?’

Janice looked down. ‘I never thought you’d turn enemies into allies.’

‘And I’d never thought you’d betray me, you of all people, Janice. You disappoint me.’

‘You’ve lost your mind’, she flatly said before moving towards the door of the farm in the English countryside that they had transformed into their temporary headquarters. A drone flew in and stopped right in front of her face. She froze and the five other people who had followed her too.

‘Oh, you actually thought you could walk away from me that easily, did you… That makes me almost sorry for you.’

With a little clicking sound, two laser guns appeared from the front of the drone, aiming right at her head. She started to babble, staring, entranced, at the two black muzzles.

‘Quentin… you said… you said this was a partnership… you said there was no leader… that we could walk away whenever we wanted, I— I— you know I’d never betray you…’

‘Oh Janice… you just did’, he sadly said, right before the drone fired two twin shots at her forehead. She dropped like a puppet to the floor, and four of the others dropped with her, landing on their knees, instantly starting to beg for their lives. The fifth one, Sandra, didn’t move at all. Quentin, his eyes now filled with a crazed glint, lifted his remaining arm and the gesture silenced them all immediately.

‘So. Who’s back on the team?’

* * *

When his phone rang, his head shot up from the desk in his study. He had fallen asleep on one of his mechanical engineering books now slightly smeared with his own drool. He frowned at his phone when he saw who was calling him.

‘Happy?’

‘Peter, thank God! Are you home?’ 

‘Yeah, what’s going on?’

‘Code Red! There’s an attack going on at Rikers Island! We need you there towards the West Facility!’

‘What? At— at Rikers?’

‘Yes. West Facility.’

‘O—okay, I’ll be there in five minutes.’

_ Code Red? At Rikers? Oh my god, this is an Avengers level threat! _

He was in the Iron Spider suit in the blink of an eye, with no hesitation whatsoever. Who cared if he wasn’t even an Avenger anymore? They needed him right now and he needed the most efficient suit for this; his own ego and the fact that this totally contradicted what he’d told Tony on the phone didn’t matter. He jumped out of the window and reached the East River at record speed. 

_ Today, today… Oh my god, what if it was today? _ He wasn’t ready to see him again _ today. _He wasn’t ready at all! But this wasn’t about him. He had to focus.

The Falcon was the first Avenger he saw. The winged superhero flew past him as he was sprinting across the Rikers Island Bridge, overtaking him without a word. Peter ran as fast as he could past a checkpoint at the other end of the bridge with confused-looking but cooperative officers, ran across a huge parking lot full of hundreds of cars and scared people stranded there, before he hoisted himself up the side of a building and swung into one of the deserted yards. There were so many buildings there; how was he supposed to know where to go? But of course the suit knew. He followed the little red dot on the map that suddenly appeared in front of his retinas, trying to spot anything wrong, but all was strangely quiet apart from the loud alarm that gave him an instant headache.

When he finally reached the right yard in the West Facility, he saw Rhodey slowly landing there in the War Machine suit. The Falcon was talking with some correctional officers. He suddenly froze. Blood. He could smell blood. He turned and saw men in uniforms checking on a couple of unconscious bodies on the ground. He scanned the rest of the yard. Dozens of men and a few women were slowly coming out of two different buildings, all of them wide-eyed and breathless. A man was on the floor crying, holding his own head, with a couple of his fellow officers on their knees behind him, hugging him from behind.

_ What the hell happened here? _

‘It was madness… nothing we could do...’ he heard a breathless, clearly shocked man say to the Falcon as he stepped closer to them. He glanced over at the taller Avenger and did a double-take. He was carrying Captain America’s shield. Peter stared at it, stunned for a second, and then at the man’s suit. He now had a large star across his chest, just like Cap used to have. Even his former pair of goggles had been replaced by a helmet resembling Steve Rogers’s one, except it was darker and Peter couldn’t see his eyes. The Avenger suddenly turned towards him and Peter slightly started. The aura he exuded gave him chills. 

‘Hey, Spandex’, the new Captain America said.

‘Hi’, Peter muttered, waving a little awkwardly. 

‘We’re too late. They escaped. There’s no way we can find them now.’

‘What? Who—who escaped?’ Peter asked, still sounding way too young for any of that shit.

‘They didn’t tell you?’

‘The men you got locked up’, Rhodey loudly interjected right next to him, making him outright jump this time. 

‘The—what?’

‘Adrian Toomes and Mac Gargan. They escaped using some sort of advanced tech that blinded everybody—temporarily at least’, Rhodey went on. 

‘Yeah… everybody but them…’, the Falcon continued. ‘Everybody on the entire island… They couldn’t hear anything either… It only stopped two minutes before we got here. Needless to say people lost their freaking minds… Someone managed to issue the high-level threat emergency protocol. It put the whole island on lockdown but they escaped anyway... No one knows how at this point… A dozen officers are down... either killed by Gargan and Toomes themselves or by their own men…’

Rhodey’s head dropped. He sighed to the ground.

‘Yeah…’ the Falcon sadly said, ‘they couldn’t see anything and panicked when they heard gunfire… An unarmed inmate got caught in the crossfire too...’

Peter’s mind was reeling. 

‘Okay’, Rhodey said, nodded to himself. ‘We have to move. Fast. Kid, hold on to my suit.’ 

Peter was a bit taken aback but instantly obeyed and a second later, they were both abruptly taking off, soon flying over New York City. Rhodey was speaking fast, responding to people on the ground trying to guide their manhunt, but there was no use now. They were gone.

No security camera had captured the two dangerous inmates leaving the island. There were no traces of their escape whatsoever apart from the chaos they had left. Rhodey and the Falcon scanned the entire city of New York anyway with the help of the NYPD. No sign of them anywhere. When they learned some twenty minutes later that Beck had escaped from Belmarsh Prison in South London roughly at the same time and with the same method, and it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. 

Beck. Beck and his people had helped them escape. It had been illusion tech.

Peter shuddered when he realized that had Happy and his team of legal experts succeeded in their negotiations with the United States government, the invisible drones as well as the helicopter that had enabled them to escape would have easily been intercepted in time. 

‘They teamed up...’ he slowly said, in shock.

_ Well fuck. _

No other Avenger joined them. There was no use now. It was just the three of them and they were quickly summoned by General Ross of the US Department of Defense to a cosy Manhattan office a few minutes past six. There was nothing they could do now but pray that Beck and his team weren’t planning any more grand scale prison break or worse. For now, it looked like they only wanted three people out, and they were all connected to Peter in very worrying ways. General Ross spoke for a long time, and one sentence made Peter’s heart jump.

‘Stark is figuring out a way to counter their illusion tech as we speak. It shouldn’t be too hard for him to figure out a way to annul its effects, especially if it merely consists in elaborate projections. The problem lies elsewhere. We have no idea where they’re gonna strike next and when. SI is putting forward their new interception technology to try and detect them should they use any drones or stealth means of transportation again. Unfortunately, large-scale control and surveillance by a private company doesn’t exactly make us happy.’ Rhodey snorted at that. Ross went on. ‘I get that this is an uncomfortable situation but we can’t afford to put the entire country, or the entire _ world, _under constant mass surveillance by Stark Industries, unless Mr. Stark is finally willing to hand his technology over to the United States government, which we all know he isn’t.’ Ross said.

‘Don’t you do that already?’ Rhodey snapped.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Don’t you already have the entire country under mass surveillance?’

Ross stared at the former Colonel, unflinching, and with the slightest ghost of a smile. ‘Not to that extent. What I’m saying is: get ready for the next strike, that’s all you can do now; what we can all do. My guess is that they will come for the man who put them in jail in the first place.’ He stared at Peter who slightly blushed at being called a man. ‘We sent more men to protect your friends, Mr. Parker, just in case.’

Peter tried to make himself seem taller.

‘Thanks.’

Ross then left them with agent Huang from the FBI and agent Burns from S.H.I.E.L.D. What none of them fully understood was what had happened right before the escape. One of the prison’s administrative chiefs had been murdered in his car while driving home from work, and then Beck’s team had used their technology to make an _ illusion _of him, except it was a real physical body that came back to Rikers and entered it with the victim’s fingerprints, not a hologram. Had they sort of wrapped an illusion around a real person?

‘He can do that, yes’, Peter interjected. ‘He did it with himself. That’s how he created his costume.’

Agent Huang nodded.

‘But… How did they get his fingerprints?’ Peter asked before shuddering at his own brain providing him with a horrible answer.

The body had been found ‘intact’, however. 

‘And then he printed some administrative paper granting Toomes and Gargan a transfer to another correctional facility’, Huang went on. ‘This is what’s interesting. They tried to make it all quiet and easy but then their plan failed because of a mistake, a big fat mistake that prompted a correctional officer to quickly raise the alarm. The body of the victim was found by some tourists on a boat, almost immediately after having been thrown into the East River from under the Hell Gate Bridge.’

‘Right there in broad daylight’, agent Burns added.

‘Amateur work’, Huang nodded at his colleague from S.H.I.E.L.D. Burns was a _ very _ attractive woman in her forties, and Peter embarrassingly couldn’t stop staring at her intense, clear blue eyes.

‘Or overconfidence’, Rhodey replied, pensive. ‘Maybe they just didn’t care.’

‘Well, things certainly didn’t go the way they’d planned because of that sloppy mistake, that we can tell you’, Burns replied. ‘You know what I think? I think they’re not that organized. They had clearly planned for everything to go smoothly and then Gargan and Toomes found themselves right in the middle of crossfire. They almost died escaping. Something tells me there’s a lack of cohesion within their group. Getting rid of a body properly shouldn’t be that hard when you’re at that level.’

‘Yeah… something’s not right’, the Falcon finally spoke, pensive.

Peter listened to them while trying to remember who Gargan was. Funnily enough, he simply couldn’t. 

He got inside a jet half an hour later with Rhodey and the Falcon —‘Call me Sam’, the new Cap said with a smile— and they flew straight to the new Avengers’ Compound in Upstate New York, Peter’s stomach tight, pressure all the way to his throat. He was about to ask Rhodey whether Mr. Stark was going to be there when he noticed something strange. Rhodey was avoiding his eyes, never directly looking at him. At first, he thought this was all in his head but then, as he asked the older man for a bottle of water, he clearly saw that this was very much real. Rhodey handed him the bottle with a furtive glance that screamed discomfort and disapproval.

_ He knows. _

He felt naked without his mask on. He couldn’t speak and silently prayed that there was another explanation to the man’s cold demeanor. It was such a contrast to that time when he had given him a tour of the former Avengers’ Compound. Maybe he was just very worried. His heart was pounding when they landed on the tarmac and got out of the jet, walking up to the brand new designer’s building he had never seen before. The sun had now completely set in the cold late November night. 

He didn’t know what he wanted more; to find Tony there, or for him to safely stay hundreds of miles away from him.

He entered the building shaking all over. To make things worse, Bruce walked up to him and he had to close his eyes for a few seconds. 

‘You okay?’ the green man softly asked.

Peter nodded a little, knowing full well that he didn’t look okay at all. When he opened his eyes again he saw Wanda flash him a sad, sympathetic smile. He tried his best to return it and gave her another of his little awkward waves while walking past her, still following Rhodey, almost not feeling his own legs. Rhodey stopped in his tracks. Wanda hugged Sam behind him, and Peter focused on a large abstract painting beyond a couch in an attempt at calming himself down.

All four of them followed Rhodey into a conference room and Peter braced himself. 

But no, Tony wasn’t there. 

Rhodey then talked and talked and talked and they looked in silence at the holographic screen illustrating his very detailed briefing on what had just happened in New York City _ and _ London. The large conference room felt strangely quiet and _ empty _ . Rhodey’s voice was the only sound there for a good twenty minutes. It seemed as if the five of them were the only ones left in the entire facility. It made Peter think of his own quiet times in the dead of night, alone at the top of some skyscraper, enjoying the semblance of temporary suspension of time and _ life. _ When Mac Gargan’s mugshot appeared, he instantly recognized him. He was that scorpion guy from the Staten Island Ferry with _ ‘an extensive criminal record including homicide’ _. God did he miss Karen… He swallowed hard as Toomes’s face brought up difficult memories. He thought about Liz and wished again that he had his mask on. Wanda was looking at him. He looked down.

‘Where’s Tony?’ she suddenly asked.

‘Working on finding them’, Rhodey answered her. ‘He’s had Trump on the phone, trying to get him to sign a bunch of emergency protocols that’ll enable us to have complete surveillance and military control over the country. Shouldn’t be that hard to convince him.’ Sam snorted at that, shaking his head. ‘The problem is with Congress. Democrats aren’t happy about that at all.’

‘As they should’, Peter interjected. They all turned towards him. 

Rhodey looked down. ‘As they should’, he repeated. ‘But now’s not the time for politics, kid. We put your friends back under reinforced protection for a reason, you know.’

He didn’t know why it happened at that moment but Peter couldn’t take the pressure anymore. He turned and left the room without a single word, heading to the nearest bathroom. They didn’t stop him. He leaned over one of the sinks there and tried to steady his own breathing. After a moment he turned the faucet on and splashed cold water all over his face and neck. When he looked up, he stared at his own wet face, so white under the light of that bathroom, or was it because of his state right now? He had a big zit on one side of his nose and another on his chin. Again, he didn’t know why, but just looking at those zits really felt like an out-of-body experience. He suddenly understood why. At that moment, he would have given anything to just be a normal teenager again. To be back at Ned’s, building Lego with him after school, away from all that nerve-racking, life-threatening shit...

‘Are you okay?

It was Wanda. She was so amazingly beautiful. He shook his head and to his utter mortification she stepped forward and hugged him. 

‘You’re shaking’, she whispered in his ear and he shivered even more. It was hard to breathe now. ‘Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay. You’re not alone.’

He abruptly broke their hug and, unable to speak, not even to say thank you, he just left in a hurry before she could see his tears. 

* * *

‘What is going on…’ Sam said, eyeing Rhodey and Bruce, frowning.

Neither of them replied, nor did they look up. They were both sadly staring at the floor. This was confirmation right there that something was wrong.

‘What’s going on with the kid?’ Sam tried again.

They all turned when Wanda re-entered the room without Peter. Her gaze travelled between Rhodey and Bruce, before she exchanged a look with Sam and they looked back together at the older men.

Rhodey sighed. ‘Look… it’s best if you don’t know. It’s… personal.’

‘Personal’, Sam repeated, a bit stunned.

‘Yes’, Bruce spoke for the first time.

‘Okay.’

Wanda didn’t say anything. She was thinking. Hard.

‘Does it have anything to do with Tony?’

* * *

**September 4, 2023.**

‘Are you going to escape again or can you summon the courage and _ maturity _to talk to me right now...’

‘Both. Shoot.’

Pepper sighed. ‘I won’t talk to you if you're not actually _willing _ to talk to me.’

‘And yet here you are cornering me in the pantry.’

‘Tony…’

‘Hang on, where’s the tomato paste again? You said we had some left, right?’

‘Listen, I know how hard it is for you to—’

‘Excuse me, I’m trying to make some couscous here. Can’t this wait another time?’

‘Tony, you’ve been back for an entire week now and you haven’t even told—’

‘_There _ you are… Sorry, not really listening, got couscous to cook, _ excuse _ _me_’, he said, slightly pushing her out of his way to exit the small space. Pepper sighed again, following him slowly into the kitchen. Morgan was in bed. He was cooking couscous at 10pm. 

‘Tony…’

‘So, got some olive oil, a couple of onions, here... we... go...', he went on, putting the ingredients into the large stock pot. 'And then four carrots, two turnips, two zucchinis…’

‘Tony…’ she tried again, louder.

‘No proper Moroccan spice mix but hey, this is a vegan couscous, not a real lamb couscous and this is my first try at cooking couscous so consider it a test run... did I mention how I _ loved _ saying couscous? It’s both hilarious and cathartic, don't you think? _ Couscous_. Try it.’

‘Did you fuck?’

That effectively shut him up. His mouth opened in a barely restrained gasp and he looked down, her blunt, crude question suddenly dropping the veil that had been hiding his true, pained self for the past week. He turned around towards the sink.

‘Tony… I just want us to talk... I’ll leave you alone afterwards, I promise. Don’t you think you owe me at least one conversation?’

He was wiping his hands on the dish towel that he had been carrying on his shoulder. Pepper looked at him, deeply worried, knowing full well that his hands weren't wet or dirty at all. 

‘Yeah’, he said in his usual quick voice, but very quietly, almost too quietly for her to catch it. 

‘Yeah what?’ she pressed him on.

He huffed. ‘Don’t pretend Happy didn’t tell you.’

She slowly blinked and looked down. ‘So you _ did _ have sex with him… Oh God, Tony... how could you...’ she softly said.

‘I don’t know’, he replied in a small voice before turning to face her, although not looking directly at her. ‘I don’t know what happened that night. All I know is…’ his breath hitched. He looked up when he felt tears coming. ‘Fuck it’s hard. It’s fucking hard, Peps. I love the fucking kid, what can I say…’

‘Did you hurt him?’

He looked at her then, pain shooting up in his chest at that. _ How could you think that of me? _ was written in his eyes. She looked away. 

‘I didn’t… we didn’t… it was just… _ frottage.’ _

_ ‘Frottage?’ _

‘Yeah… No couscous, though.’

‘Tony…’

‘Sorry.’

‘Are you joking...’

‘No. Listen, I didn’t even…’, he let out a heavy breath. ‘I didn’t even touch him, okay? Not— not like that… We hugged… and then… and then I don’t know how it happened but we kissed and… and then I kinda lost it.’

_ ‘Kind of?’ _

‘Yeah, okay, I lost my mind. But what’s done is done, what can I say?’

They both stayed silent for a moment.

‘He’s madly in love with you...’, Pepper remarked or asked, it wasn’t clear.

Tony’s brow went up and he closed his eyes, lips tightly closed, before slightly nodding.

‘Shit…’

‘Shit indeed...’

‘So… what are you gonna do...’

‘Some couscous.’

_ ‘Tony…’ _

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Yeah nothing, why? What would you have me do? He’s seventeen.’

‘Seventeen...' They shared a look. 'Tough fact to explain to the media… and Morgan’, she added.

‘Yeah…’

They just stared at each other for a moment.

‘I had him on the phone last week... made myself clear... he understands', he vaguely explained.

‘Oh… does he though… do you?’ she tilted her head, unconvinced.

‘Yeah.’

‘Tony… you want him and he wants you... I know you better than anyone and you expect me to believe that you’re just gonna… _ stop?’ _

‘We have to. For Morgan. I don’t give a shit about the media. I’m doing this for her. And… and for him.’

‘This… this is a _ mess _, oh my god… and I don’t believe you… I’m sorry Tony but I don’t.’

‘Listen, forget about the old me, can you do that for me? Forget about him because I’m not _ him _ anymore. I _ changed, _remember? Believe it or not, it’s over. _I_ ended it. For Morgan. I know I might never get your trust back but please believe me when I say I did it for her. That's all I'm asking. I don’t want that for her’, he repeated, now inches from his wife’s face. He froze. He suddenly noticed that her expression had weirdly shifted to one of mild shock. She frowned.

‘Why did you dye your hair again?’

‘What?’

_ Shit, here we go. _

‘Oh my god…’ she slowly, quietly exclaimed. She was finally seeing it too, seeing past his lame lies. ‘You… you dyed your hair yourself in the middle of the woods… just for the heck of it…’ she repeated his earlier explanation as to why he had decided to dye his hair in Vermont.

‘Yeah, again, I was feeling bored and I had to do _ something _about my general state of neglect, why are you—’

‘You hadn’t dyed them dark brown in _ years _ though, you just asked Tina for... light brown highlights’, she said, stepping closer and touching his hair now, inspecting it.

‘Hey, hey, hands off, Mrs. Stark.’

‘Oh my god…’

‘What…’

‘You look different.’

‘No, I don’t. Well, obviously the hair…’

‘You look _ younger.’ _

‘Thanks.’

‘Tony!’

‘I always knew dark hair suited me better, after all it’s my natural—’

‘Stop _ bullshitting _me!’ she cried out, making him jump.

‘Sshhh! Morgan!’ he hissed.

‘Tell me the truth _ right now!’ _

‘It’s the treatment!' he finally blurted out. 'It’s making my hair grow dark again and I don’t know for sure whether it’ll affect the rest of my body or not and it’s scaring the _ shit _ out of me but it’s probably no big deal so _ please_, _ keep your voice down!_’ he hissed.

‘Oh my god…’

‘I dyed it so you wouldn’t freak out.’

‘What—so, the—it was—’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did you talk to anyone about this?’

‘No.’

‘Tony…’

‘It’s none of anyone’s business.’

‘And you… you not needing the cane anymore…’

‘Maybe it’s not related.’

‘Oh my god…’

‘I just _ healed_, okay? I’m fine, I’m totally fine. It’s a bit freaky, maybe, but I’m fine, okay? It's what matters, right?’

‘I still don’t get how you couldn’t possibly get the whole truth of what they did to you back there… How could you just—’

‘As I have already said a million times, it was kind of a lost in translation arrangement, and anyway does it really _matter?_ They basically saved my life. I would still be vegetable at that stage if not for— oh shit, the onions!’ he exclaimed, abruptly rushing past her, making her start and close her eyes.

Of course the onions were burned. 

* * *

**December 1, 2023**

Nothing happened at all for a few weeks. No sign of Toomes, Gargan or Beck anywhere. They were laying low for a while. It was the only explanation they had. None of them were even close to suspecting what was slowly brewing, swelling dangerously under the surface.

The seven men all met for the first time four days after their prison break. The meeting was set in Mason’s new workshop, which really was Toomes’s, even if he had never set foot in it before his escape. After his unfortunate encounter with little Peter Parker that had landed him in jail in 2017, his engineer subordinate had of course relocated their workshop and headquarters. Mason opened the door for him, goofily hugging his cold-looking boss, and the older man spotted Shocker walking up to him, extending his hand for half a high-five, half a handshake. And then he spotted the new guy. Dr. Octavius. He wondered if he had cancer or something. He looked pale, and like the kind of people who used to be chubby but had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. Gaunt but with too much floppy skin left. Toomes strutted up to him, eyeing him with curiosity while asserting his dominance.

_ I’m the boss here, Mr. Scientist from MIT. _

‘Hi. Toomes’, he said, extending his hand.

‘Doc’, the man introduced himself in return, taking it.

‘Don’t pretend we don’t already know who you are, _ Otto.’ _

The guy tensed. ‘I don’t. I just don’t want you to call me that.’

‘Oh. Okay, then, whatever.’

He looked light years away from being cut out for the criminal world. But he had strong motives, a big brain, and something dark in him if you really looked. It would do for now.

‘The others are late!’ Toomes boomed.

‘Actually, boss, you’re the one who showed up a little in advance’, Mason corrected him.

‘Ah. Get us some beer then, Mason. Ice cold.’

‘Right away, boss. Oh, actually, I have champagne.’

That made Toomes cackle. ‘You’re right, we need to celebrate. Bring it on.’

Gargan was next, making his entrance in his usual smug strut, flanked by two of his men—Pitch Black and another one Toomes had never seen. From the looks of it, he too must love his job. 

‘So you’re the one who invented the new metal?’ Gargan directly asked Doc.

‘Technically, it’s a new _ alloy, _ not metal’, Mason interjected.

‘I’m sorry, did I talk to you?’ Gargan replied with chilling fake politeness. Mason instantly shut up.

Toomes observed the professor with genuine interest and worry. It was very clear he was scared. He managed to stir the psychopath’s attention away from the poor guy and saw him stifle a sigh of relief. _Yeah, definitely not made for this business…_ ‘Let’s wait for the others before we start talking business’, he interjected. ‘I hate repeating myself.’

‘Right’, Gargan replied, turning away from Doc and Mason and walking past Toomes with a spark in his eyes letting him understand that he knew exactly what he had just done. Toomes had a flash of one of the tense conversations they’d had in Rikers years ago. _‘Pity for the weak will land you nowhere, Toomes. Mark my words.’_ He thought of Little Vaughn and his shoulders tensed.

A sudden puff of green smoke made them all jump and reach for their guns. 

‘The fuck is that?’ Shocker exclaimed.

‘Tadaaa!’ a man in a ridiculous lighted costume exclaimed, appearing through the green cloud with his only arm extented like a goofy magician.

When the smoke quickly dissipated, Toomes saw two other men close together behind him, faces somber, completely in contrast with Beck’s.

‘Good evening everyone, my name’s Quentin Beck, I’m the reason you’re out of jail but don’t thank me, that was my pleasure.’ 

Toomes figured the guy wouldn’t last a minute alone with Gargan. None of them said a word, the chilling silence instantly making Beck uncomfortable.

‘Okay… so… this is my good friend Dmitri Smerdyakov whom you already know... and this… is his brother Sergei. Both used to be super secret spies and successfully infiltrated the CIA back in the thirties and forties before actually working for the US government —or rather for themselves, right?— and, okay, long story short Dmitri has been working for the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement Logistics Division better known as S.H.I.E.L.D for several decades now and you now know what he can do... When Stark was away, he kindly proposed his services to me.’

Still no answer from the other men.

‘Why.’ Toomes asked after a moment. The Chameleon didn’t answer, just stared at him coldly.

‘Sorry Dmitri isn’t much of a talker… In a nutshell, he needs to get to Stark for… personal reasons.’

‘You don’t look older than sixty. How come you were alive in the thirties?’ Gargan asked both Russians.

‘Good question!’ Beck cut in with exaggerated enthusiasm. ‘Dmitri?’

The Chameleon threw an icy look at Beck who faltered a little, but then he finally spoke.

‘Soviet experiment’, was all he said.

‘Yeah, they were injected with a serum and escaped and it sort of stopped their aging process, or at least partially, but now they’re… they need more’, Beck explained.

‘Enough’, the other, older brother spoke for the first time in a gruff voice. He looked sickly. ‘I am Kraven the Hunter, and now, I am hunting Tony Stark.’

Gargan actually wheezed at that, but before Kraven could react, another man spoke.

‘To go back in time. Get more serum.’

They all turned to the man who had spoken. Otto Octavius. Kraven slowly nodded, not looking away from him, like his brother Dmitri. 

‘You’re the physicist.’

‘Yes.’

A quiet understanding settled among the three men. Gargan made a face. An intrigued more than amused one this time. Toomes broke the silence.

‘Well if you wanna get your hands of Tony fucking Stark, you better have one hell of a plan and the tech to go with it.’

‘Or a very simple plan and the tech you _ promised _ me _ ’ _, Gargan replied, shooting him a glare.

Doc and Dmitri were still staring at each other. ‘The tech shouldn’t be a problem’, Doc said in a casual tone that made Toomes reconsider everything he had thought about the guy. 

‘No, it shouldn’t’, Beck smiled.

'So... do you have them?' Doc asked Dmitri.

'I do', the Russian answered.

* * *

Crime seemed to go down during the weeks leading up to Christmas that year and there was still no sign of the dangerous fugitives. There was frankly not a lot to do for Spider-Man apart from harmless shoplifting from poor people who couldn’t afford presents for their own family. Even domestic violence wasn’t as high as the previous years, a friendly police officer informed him, stopping for a moment to have a quick chat with the ‘youngest Avenger’. Something to do with the reverse snap, apparently. Suicide rates were still higher, though.

‘Don’t listen to all the nutters thinking you’re bad', the officer then told him. 'I know what you’ve done for this city and I know what you keep doing every day despite all the criticism you get. You have my respect, kid.’

‘Thanks, man. That means a lot to me.’

And it truly did. He had an urge to ask the young officer for his phone number but stopped himself. _ No, that would look weird. _ But he could really use a friend right now. Instead, he jumped and swung his way towards his favorite destination of the month: Rockefeller Center. He found himself more often than not coming back to the beautiful giant tree there, reflecting on the old days and his innocent younger self while staring at its blinking, shimmering lights, thinking about Hadrian and Antinous and Tony’s love for him and yes, about that night in Rappahannock, now long gone and feeling like a dream. He would probably keep dreaming about it for the rest of his life. He briefly considered getting Tony a Christmas present but decided against it. He wondered what presents _ he _ would get his daughter and silently wished in the cold night air that he would one day become a dad too, looking down at all the happy fathers carrying their child onto their shoulders below the colorful decorations.

He got the call a week before Christmas in the middle of the day. He didn’t recognize her straight away. The sobbing made it difficult. Her voice was shaky, extremely panicky, and her adrenaline-fueled speech was intercut with quick breaths. She spoke fast and the rhythm was off, as if she was badly reading from a script.

‘Peter, it’s me, MJ, I need you to come to Yonkers, MTA Bus Company Yonkers Depot. I repeat, MTA Bus Company Yonkers Depot.’

‘MJ?’

‘They got Ned too. Come alone and bring your phone or they’ll kill one of us. If you—’ she let out a high sob, clearly terrified. Peter felt close to fainting. No. This was not happening. ‘If you tell anyone where we are, my death will be slow and painful. Especially—’ She couldn’t go on, a panic attack clearly preventing her from finishing.

‘Finish!’ he heard a man shout at her. She shrieked. MJ was brave. He had never heard her in such a state of panic. Had the man done something more than shout? Had he struck her? Peter almost crushed his phone between his fingers, now looking like a mad man ready for murder. 

‘Especially since I’m so pretty!’ she sobbed.

‘No!’ Peter cried out.

‘You have one hour’, the man cut in, and then the line was dead.


	26. Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: It's dark. Read the tags beforehand. My Sinister Six are _sinister_ all right... Read at your own risk.

‘Why don’t you put any make-up on, honey? You almost look like a boy like that. Or a lesbian. Are you a lesbian?’

‘Black. Stop.’

‘Why? We’re probably gonna be here for _ hours. _ Might as well enjoy ourselves.’

‘Stop.’

The psychopath let go of the crying girl’s left breast to glance at Toomes with a mix of amusement and disdain.

‘Shit, Scorp didn’t lie, did he? You really are a _softie.’_

‘No. But I do have a code. She’s underage.’

‘Even better! Are you a virgin, honey?’

‘I said stop.’

‘Or did Spider-Boy put his little dick in here already...’

There was a distinct clicking sound above the girl's crying that finally shut him up. Toomes had his gun out and he was aiming directly at his head. ‘I’m not joking. I’m here to get my revenge like Gargan, but not like that. No groping. No rape.’

Pitch Black was now dead silent. He smiled, slowly putting his hands up. 

‘Alright, grandpa. No rape.’

* * *

Peter called Ned first. Straight to voicemail. At 1pm. Bad sign. Very bad. He tried calling MJ next. Again, straight to voicemail.

_ Oh God. This is real. This is not an illusion. I did this. I did this. It’s all my fault, and I can’t get any help. I gotta go. Alone. It’s all on me. I did this. I did this to them! _

He left a note for May telling her he was going to do some early patrolling today and not to worry if he missed dinner. He heard his own heart pounding during the whole train ride to Yonkers. He had been avoiding trains ever since Berlin. Sitting on top of one, he suddenly really had to go number two. He had to stop and find some restroom. He did, emptying himself out of sheer stress in a filthy public toilet, sweating profusely, wondering if it was a stomach bug or infectious diarrhea. He was nauseous too. He stopped again near a Walmart a mile or two later and threw up behind a parked car. What he had been fearing the most was actually happening. Ned and MJ were suffering right now because of him. Maybe they were going to die. Maybe MJ—

‘You okay there?’

‘Yeah… sorry.’

‘Oh my god, are you the real one? No fucking way, man! Are you _ drunk?’ _

Peter was leaning against the car in his Iron Spider suit, his face uncovered in the freezing air. He shook his head and looked over at the guy. He had his phone out. Peter commanded the suit to slither back over his head too late. The guy took a picture of him all sweaty with vomit at the corner of his mouth. 

‘Man, come on… you can’t share this… please...’

‘Oh the hell I will! Unless you have a little something for me, that is... You’re rich as fuck now, right? Got a lot of that Stark money, huh? What can I say, dude, I’m broke... I could use some cash right now...’

‘I’m sorry, I— I don’t have any—’

‘Well, too bad, then, Spider-Man.’ And the guy just took off, running as fast as he could across the parking lot.

He could have easily stopped him. He could have snatched his phone and deleted the picture but he didn’t. The guy was probably going to sell it for a fortune to Just Jared or something. Deep down, Peter didn’t care. He even felt kind of happy for him. Anyway, the guy was gone now. He took deep breaths. Only twenty minutes left. He couldn’t screw this up. 

It started snowing for the very first time that year—well, at least since the previous winter. Peter loved snow, even as a New Yorker. Deep down, he was still a kid, and he thought about Christmas with Ben and May while hopping on another train, thick snow making it hard to see very far now. When he finally reached his destination, he had a moment of panic. A lot of people were currently working at the Yonkers MTA Bus Company Depot. The parking lot was full. This didn't feel right. What if he got the address wrong? What if he’d heard Yonkers but it was actually Bayonne or Union? People instantly spotted him.

‘Oh look! Holy shit, dude!’

‘Oh my fucking God…’ 

‘Shit, are we on TV right now?’

‘Yo,_ Peter Parker! _ How’s it going?’

Some glared at him. Almost everyone took out their phone. If this was the place, where was he supposed to go now? If this wasn't, Ned and MJ were dead.

His own phone buzzed. He had an incoming call from an unknown number. His breath caught in his throat as soon as he heard the voice.

‘Hey, Pedro...’ 

Hatred filled his veins. Hatred and fear. He would have recognized that rough voice among a million. 

‘Let my friends go’, he immediately said. ‘Let them go and I’ll give you anything you want.’

‘Get inside the building’, Toomes ignored him. ‘A guy named Chuck is waiting for you there. Pretend you know him. Follow him and do what he says. No tricks or one of your friends dies’, he finished before hanging up. 

Peter took another deep breath. He couldn’t properly breathe. He felt utterly soaked inside his suit, and hot, too hot when it was actually freezing right now. He walked towards the nearest depot feeling as if he were about to faint. He was now surrounded by workers gawking at his Iron Spider suit, almost all of them either filming or taking pictures. A couple of them even asked if they could touch it. 

‘Hey… sorry… I… I’m looking for Chuck.’

Several men loudly laughed at that, shouting together in a group taunt as if Peter had just delivered a major burn.

‘No fucking way…’

‘Oh man! I really thought he was fucking with us! _Damn!’_

Chuck was not at all the kind of guy you would expect to be part of a major criminal gang. He was a chubby, smiley guy in his thirties. He looked like a nerd, or a young and cheerful family man, or both. He walked up to Peter with a grin and extended arms. 

‘Oh, hey! There you are, buddy!’, he said. ‘So? What did I tell you? Marty! Where’s my fifty?’ Chuck shouted at a dumbfounded colleague, laughing amidst the excited cries still going on around him. ‘Come with me, Peter! So how’s May? Sorry guys, but we’d appreciate some privacy now... Family issue...’ he said in a sad tone this time, heavily implying that some tragic event had just occurred in their family, throwing an arm around Peter’s shoulder. Peter shuddered but let him, feeling another urge to throw up. 

He followed him across a vast hangar and then along an empty corridor. They entered an empty room, a small office with a desk, a computer, a big plant and family photos plastered everywhere. Chuck was in some of them. He did have kids. His voice made Peter jump. It sounded completely different.

‘Take off your suit and give it to me. No tricks. Give me your phone too, unlocked. Anything happens to me and they die, got it?’

Peter was blankly staring at the picture of two kids smiling brightly at the camera while hugging a giant Mickey Mouse. His senses were screaming at him to just punch the man but he didn’t. Instead, he obeyed him. The suit slithered away, and he felt exposed. He would have been completely naked if not for his boxer shorts and socks. He was shivering.

‘Put this on.’

Soft clothes hit his hard naked chest and fell to his feet. He didn’t catch them. He had to go to the bathroom again. 

‘I have to use the bathroom', he muttered, mortified.

Chuck eyed him from head to toes several times.

‘Are you serious right now?’

‘Yes’, Peter said. _ No, don’t cry. Don’t you fucking cry right now! _

‘I said no tricks.’

‘It’s not… It’s not a trick. I just… I’m sick.’

The guy eyed him again, thought about it for a moment, and then said: ‘follow me.’

Peter emptied himself again, the sound of it painfully loud, and he silently prayed that MJ wasn’t being raped right now. _No._ _Toomes isn’t like that. He would never. But what about Beck? He's a fucking pervert. And Gargan..._

‘Are you done?’

When he got out of the now stinking stall feeling utterly humiliated, he slowly walked up to one of the sinks and proceeded to wash his hands under Chuck’s eyes. The man was holding a small bottle of water, and then, to Peter’s astonishment, he handed it to him.

‘Drink’, he just said.

_ Dehydration. Right. But why do you care? _

He put the clothes on, essentially gray pajamas, a little too large for him, and he briefly wondered if the whole place was an illusion. It looked very much real, though.

Chuck led him across the depot and into another parking lot overlooking the Hudson River. The freezing wind and snow hitting his face helped him a little. And then they entered another building and stepped into an elevator. They went down, Chuck flashing a card instead of pressing a button. As soon as the doors closed, Peter broke the silence.

‘Why are you doing this... What do you want?’

No response.

‘Please, let my friends go, I’ll do anything. I’ll give you anything... my life if that’s what you want. You want revenge, right?’

The man then turned and looked into his eyes, making him flinch. There was something weird and intense about those eyes. He wasn’t the young cheerful dad from those pictures at all anymore. Peter wondered how some people actually managed to live such separate lives like that. Unless he wasn’t really Chuck...

‘No. Stark’, the man flatly said, and Peter shuddered.

The doors reopened to reveal an underground parking lot. It was almost empty and smelled like fish, piss and fuel. Peter braced himself. The man looked totally relaxed, however. Peter followed him to one of the only cars there, a standard Ford Fusion, gray and so common it actually was a perfect replica of Ned’s mom’s car _ and _ of one of his former teachers’, Mrs. Riley. She had sent him one of the sweetest letters of congratulations and encouragement a few weeks ago.

‘Get in.’

Peter frowned, looking at the calm, normal-looking criminal disappearing inside the car.

‘Front or back?’ he called out, sounding almost casual.

‘I don’t care.’

He opened the front door and got into the passenger’s seat, right next to his captor. The guy slightly smirked and started the engine, unfazed. The car began to move slowly. Chuck was taking his time.

‘You do know I could kill you with a single finger, right?’

Chuck smiled. ‘You’re not a murderer.’

‘Well, you might make me one.’

He then abruptly stopped the car and turned towards Peter, his face suddenly too close. What happened next made Peter blink, thinking of a hallucination, but blinking didn't make it stop. The skin on Chuck's face began to ondulate, bringing his nausea back full force in an instant. It looked painful but Chuck didn’t move. He just stared on right into his eyes, and in a few seconds, _Peter's own face_ was gleefully staring back at him, like a vision from a horror movie. It was without a doubt one of the scariest moments of Peter’s entire life. He gasped very loudly, knocking the door with his right arm so hard that it left a large dent. His other self was still intensely boring into his eyes, now beaming like a pervert at his horrified look, the sight so disturbing Peter was positive it would give him nightmares.

‘We’ll see’, fake, twisted Peter Parker said.

And then Peter couldn’t. He couldn’t see. Deep blackness surrounded him right after the wizard’s words. Because he was a wizard, he had to be. Or was he one of Beck’s men? One of his illusions? God, of course he was. How stupid could he be! Was he even in a car right now? What about Chuck? Where was the real Chuck? Had they murdered him? He tried to remain calm. He heard the man chuckle in his own voice.

‘Don’t faint, it’s just the beginning.’

And then the car moved. Peter was rendered completely speechless by shock for a good thirty minutes, but when he finally regained the ability to speak, he couldn't shut up.

‘Are you an illusion? Are you a wizard? Are you even from earth? What have you done with the real Chuck? Where is he? Is he still alive? Did you kill him? Is that a yes?’

Of course the man didn’t answer.

‘Why do you want Stark? Money? To steal his technology? What are you after exactly? You don't know me! Then why did you go after my friends? Why go through me? Do you work for Beck? Toomes? Gargan?’

He heard the man sigh through his nose.

‘You do know that Stark’s smarter than anyone, right? He beat _ everyone _ who ever got in his way. He beat _ Thanos. _ What makes you think you can beat him? And he’s not like me, you know, he won’t hesitate to kill you. When he learns what you—’

‘Shut up.’

It wasn’t his own voice anymore. Peter did shut up. For two minutes.

‘What did you do to MJ? Why was she crying like that? And where’s Ned? How do I know he’s still alive? Can I talk to him on the phone?’

‘I said shut up.’

Peter estimated that the ride lasted for about an hour. The guy was patient, he gave him that. When they finally arrived at their mysterious destination, he still couldn't see anything. He wasn’t picking up any immediate threat around him, but more like a sort of diffuse impending sense of doom.

‘Call Stark and read this', the man told him, and then the black veil over his eyes lifted and his sight came back too violently. The bright daylight almost blinded him again. He squeezed his eyes shut and then squinted to see a complete stranger next to him handing him a phone. No, he wasn't a complete stranger. He was one of Fury's guys! The one hwo drove them to Prague! He didn’t take the phone immediately, too shocked at this new revelation, mind reeling.

It was snowing over here too, with even thicker snowflakes slowly dancing their way down before a big warehouse.

‘The guy taking care of your girlfriend is a convicted sex offender so I wouldn’t take my time if I were you. Maybe it’s too late already. Don’t make it worse.’

Peter swallowed some bile.

* * *

Tony immediately picked up without thinking. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Pepper calling him since he had just _ yet again _sent her a text cancelling dinner with her and Morgan.

‘Listen, I’m _ sorry _, okay? I promise I’ll be home before nine, how ‘bout that?’ 

His whole face dropped when he heard a sob and some heavy breathing. He instantly recognized Peter. He was speechless. His forbidden love had never even _ once _ tried to call him since their last exchange back in late August. And then he slightly jumped when he heard a stranger’s voice shout in a harsh tone.

‘Read!’ 

It was an order. 

_ What the hell? _

‘I’m so sorry’, came Peter’s voice.

_ What? No. _

** _No._ **

‘Peter?’

‘They have my friends... Ned and MJ... They— they want you to come here alone, with no suit... no phone and no— no electronic devices whatsoever. I repeat... no suit, no watch, no glasses, nothing... or they will— they will give my friends a— a very long and painful death... they want you... alone… don’t tell anyone... I’m sor—’

‘You have an hour’, the voice from earlier cut him off. And then the call was over.

Tony’s heart must have actually dropped a few inches inside his still healing chest. That was _not_ how he had imagined their next conversation would go _at all._ He slumped back into his chair, suddenly as white as a sheet. He took one very deep breath.

‘Where was that’, he asked F.R.I.D.A.Y, his eyes still wide. Of course the sons of bitches knew he could easily locate the call. 

He needed to think. Fast. He knew how to hack into literally any electronic device but he needed to be within a sufficiently restricted range so as to properly target said device, and he _ needed his tech _ , _goddammit!_ Beck’s illusion-projecting drones wouldn’t last a_ second_ against him if he had at least his watch or his glasses with him! But alone with no tech?

It was obviously a piece of cake for him to mess up with any tech detecting device and therefore keep his own tech hidden from anyone trying to find it, but they would search him, probably ask him to take his clothes off, so no _ visible _ tech would do. As for his suit, of course he would bring it anyway but he had to keep it at a certain distance from the place initially so as not to attract their attention. He couldn't take any risk. People like Gargan were capable of cold-blooded murder. He couldn’t afford to lose one of Peter’s friends...

So… he needed his suit. He needed his tech. But he had to fool them into thinking he had listened to them. He needed a way to control everything without them suspecting a thing.

He already had the answer before he finished his internal demonstration.

They had never announced to the press that he had effectively lost his arm, let alone what he had gone through during his little tourist trip around a black hole. This was too easy. He tilted his head towards his lab table before him and stared at the revolutionary prosthetic arm he had been working on for the last few months, laying there like the perfect solution that it was. Sure it was just a prototype but it would do. It had the exact appearance of a perfectly normal arm so much so that it was actually creepy, but oh was it so much more than a regular arm… It could instantly fool any scanning device, including those of his dear friends over at the US Department of Defense, even perfectly mimicking the heat signature of a real arm. He smirked. He had to make a few last-minute aesthetic readjustments though. He had to make it plausible to _them_. He was supposed to have almost lost that arm after all. A mere thirty seconds of work by his printing bot would do to add some convincing enough burns and scars, or at least he hoped so. He couldn’t hide the suit inside it, though… far too risky with the arc reactor emitting too much energy for it to fool any advanced body scan.

‘Industrial Center, 105 W Dewey Avenue, Wharton, New Jersey’, F.R.I.D.A.Y interrupted his thoughts.

_ Oh yeah… here we go... _

He was gonna _ destroy _ those motherfuckers.

* * *

When the first illusion hit him and the two warehouses in front of him split into four, Peter instantly closed his eyes as he had done on Tower Bridge, and focused on his own breathing. Something was hurled at him and he easily avoided it, but not having his webshooters with him made him feel almost helpless, not to mention he was still under the shock of his first time hearing Tony’s voice for more than three months. He couldn't help but open his eyes again. He was in the dark now and he couldn’t remember towards which direction the two buildings were. But had they even been _ real _in the first place? More invisible objects were thrown at him. Dozens and dozens of them. He jumped, twirled, ducked and rolled onto the ground, not getting hit even once thanks to his heightened senses. And then they outright shot at him, gunshot after gunshot that he narrowly missed each time, again and again and again, and every time he shouted something at his captors, his own voice came back as a shrill echo, hurting his own eardrums. After what felt like an hour of nonstop fighting against invisible enemies, he lost all sense of time and space, breathless and completely disoriented. They were trying to exhaust him and make him lose his mind. Maybe they were directing him towards train tracks again or worse. What could be worse? He had to stay focused. For Ned. For MJ. For Tony...

SWOOSH!

When he finally got shot right in the face, he hit something—a wall. Someone laughed.

‘So you do have your own limits after all.’

_Beck._

‘Come on, Peter, open your eyes. We all worked hard for you, you know? It would be a shame to miss the show.’

‘What do you want?’, he shouted in a child’s voice.

‘Me? Oh, you know what I want.’

‘Stark will kill you!’

Beck laughed.

‘Oh, I don’t think so, kid. By the way, still madly in love with him? I can’t wait to break the news to him, see how he reacts.’

_ Okay. Okay. He doesn't know. This is an advantage. I can play along. _

‘No…’ Peter said in what he hoped was a convincing whine. Blood was oozing out of his left cheek but then the bleeding quickly stopped.

‘Oh this is gonna be fun, I can tell. Now here’s what I want you to do, Peter. Listen carefully or one of your friends dies.’

‘How do I know you even _have_ them?’

‘Oh, cause you wanna risk it? Is this what you wanna do? We only need one of them anyway, you know. Dmitri!’

‘No! No, wait! Wait… What do you want me to do?’

‘I just need you to stay _very still.._.’

‘What?’

‘Now!’ Beck shouted.

Peter ducked right on time. 

‘No, no, no!’ the mad man chanted. ‘This is the exact opposite of what I told you to do! Shocker?’

When Peter heard the first scream, he couldn’t help but open his eyes, and then what he saw made him go batshit crazy. He sprinted towards his best friend being tortured only to come heavily into contact with a concrete wall.

_Ned... _Ned was screaming... Ned was going to be first.

‘No… no… I don’t believe you… this isn’t real… this isn’t real!’

‘I— I dropped a Lego death star in his bedroom once!’ came Ned’s voice. He was crying.

_ No. _

‘Wait, please! Please! Please, stop, I’ll do anything! Please…’ Peter sobbed.

‘Stay very still.’

‘What?’

Something hit his neck and attached itself there. A small thing. Peter thought of a bug. He lifted his fingers to it.

‘What the hell?’

Sharp pain hit him like a strike of lightning, and then everything was black.

* * *

‘Get up, big boy.’

The pain stopped as quickly as it had started. Ned was on the floor, panting. He wondered how he was still alive, and how he hadn’t just dropped dead from the pain or a heart attack. 

MJ and he had been separated hours ago. Their kidnapping had happened so fast he didn’t even know how they had done it at all. Illusions, most likely. Javier and Jerry, or _ the Js _ as he goofily liked to call the two agents charged with protecting him, had not even batted an eyelash. It had happened without any violence, or at least, without any gunshot or fight. It was all sort of a big confusion in his head. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. And now he had just been tortured like in some classic James Bond movie. He was in shock, to say the least.

‘I said _ get up!’ _

He couldn’t. He realized with hot shame that he had peed his pants. He tried lifting his big body but every muscle still hurt from whatever they had done to him. Electrocution, he guessed. 

He was in a small room with no windows and a cold-hearted man the others had called the _‘Shocker’_.

* * *

Tony Stark made his entrance in the deserted parking lot in New Jersey in an imposing black SUV—the cheapest, less conspicuous car he could find in the compound. He had called Happy and Rhodey, quickly exposing the situation to them. The Avengers were on their way, but they would very carefully keep their distance until strictly necessary. Ned and MJ had to come out of this alive. One mistake and it could be over. Ten minutes after he left, Happy informed him that Spider-Man had been spotted in Yonkers. The FBI was already there, at some bus depot, and had discovered a secret underground parking lot leading to an endless tunnel they were currently exploring, having already found a truck with more than 10 kilograms of cocaine hidden in various cosmetic products. _Gargan’s style._ Classic red herring. 

He swiftly got out of the car and readjusted his suit jacket over his ACDC T-shirt. Internally, he was terrified something went wrong and they really murdered one of Peter’s friends. He silently prayed they hadn’t done it already. He vaguely feared for his own life as well, vulnerable as he was without his suit on. But he didn't show it—the fear. The fact that he couldn’t wait to get his hands on Beck and slowly, very slowly crush the psycho’s throat between his surprise bionic fingers kind of helped. He wore a T-shirt and some sneakers but yeah, he had a suit on—couldn’t resist the cheesy joke—and yes, sunglasses too. 

‘Should I take the glasses off?’ he shouted, knowing full well they were watching his every move and were probably already scanning him for hidden tech at this very moment.

He shouldn’t be having fun right now but again, he couldn’t help it. That was his own way of not completely freaking out.

He was ready for the illusions. Ready for the confrontation. Ready for the violence. He had scanned the whole area himself beforehand, of course he had. There were hundreds of stealth drones above his head as he spoke, but none of them had detected his own above the lot of them. It was an industrial center with six warehouses in total in an area located between a railway and a highway. Only two warehouses had heat signatures when he last checked. The ones farther to the East and West, separated by approximately four hundred yards. Despite all the drones making it harder to examine the details of the interior of both places, he was able to detect that there were six people in the smaller westward one, and six in the _ very _ interesting eastward one. That one contained a mini arc reactor and some equipment which pointed towards quantum tunnel research and experimentation. That meant they had managed to find a physicist smart enough to build that. Tony was intrigued. They were clearly after time travel but without any Pym particle, they couldn't go anywhere. They were stuck in their research. _ Ergo, _ they _ needed _ him.

_ Well, careful what you wish for… _

‘They’re regular ones!’, he went on, still shouting, ‘Custom-made! Dolce and Gabbana! So… I’ll appreciate it if you don’t shoot them off my nose… Thank you!’

When the illusion started, he had expected anything but that. That shit was brutal. Everything was entirely black except for an illusion of Morgan, his precious little girl in a pretty white dress slowly walking towards him with a scared face.

‘Daddy?’

_ Nope. That _ ... that right there... was a fucking horror movie.

‘Sorry, Tony. I didn’t mean to start off with the heavy stuff but you instantly pissed me off with your attitude. I’d forgotten just how much I hated you. Thanks for the reminder.’

Tony tried to look away, he really did, but then it was too late and he saw it—Morgan being shot in the head. He took it like a punch to the gut, instantly bending down, gasping with white shock...

Letting his guard down.

He noticed it too late, the thing on his neck. 

When he woke up, he couldn’t move. Both of his ankles were chained to the chair he was sitting on, and both of his arms were tightly bound behind its back. He was barely regaining consciousness when a man he had never seen before began talking inches from his face.

‘Hello Mr. Stark. Can you hear me? Yes? Good. Now listen very carefully. You can call me Doc. I’ve always been such a big fan of yours…’

He didn’t expect the slap. The man hit him hard, and then again, and then a third time before he held his own hand, gasping.

‘Ah! Fuck, that hurts! But _God_ does it feel good...’

Unsurprisingly, Tony wasn’t in his own clothes anymore. They had stripped him and for some reason had bothered to dress him in dark gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. His fake arm was exposed, the scars and burns he had added at the last minute apparently convincing enough. Why the lack of socks, though?

HUMPF.

This time the man hit him in the stomach. Tony gagged. He became a punching bag for a full minute, his captor’s eyes full of madness, hatred and perverted glee. He hit his chest, his face, his stomach most of all, but stomped on his feet too, hard, and then punched his right arm thinking that would especially hurt him, and Tony had to fake some cries for that. Finally, he finished by elbowing him right in his crotch. Tony loudly cried out, for real this time.

_ The sick fuck! _

He tried his best to think past the pain and regain his composure as quickly as possibly. He couldn’t stop coughing and blood was oozing from his nose. He suddenly noticed a man standing next to them. He was a tall, rough-looking man with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. He looked somewhat Middle-Eastern and was holding a rifle.

‘Are you done now?’ he told the mad scientist, clear disapproval in his deep voice.

‘Yeah…’ Doc said, out of breath, his own fist slightly glistening with Tony’s blood.

‘So… Mr. Stark… where were we… oh yes… I’ve been working on a little project entirely inspired by your genius, can you believe it?’

Tony spat some blood and looked up at the man with murder in his eyes. Doc leaned over him then and spoke inches from his face, clearly taking an immense amount of pleasure at having the famous billionaire at his mercy.

‘But here’s the thing… I’m having trouble understanding some of your notes that Beck gave me… you know? The ones he so easily stole from your own house under your wife’s nose while you were in space... You see, since your _ genius _ actions led to the death of my family, I need to go back to 2018… a day before the snap.’

_ Great… One of those nutters who believed in the conspiracy theories depicting him as the catalyst for the initial snap... Of course. _

‘But something’s missing from your notes! After the Quantum tunnel relaxation equation, they don’t make any sense anymore. I need you to give me the missing equations allowing for Quantum tunnel control and stabilization. Now.’

_ He couldn't figure out Quantum GPS. Of course. But how the hell did he think he could even succeed without any Pym particles? Surely he did know that!  
_

‘Would you mind taking a mint? Or step back a little?’

Doc cringed at the mocking jabs. That made Tony almost smile. He slapped him again, crying out in pain himself at the contact. Tony didn’t give him that satisfaction though.

‘I said now.’

‘Oh. So I’m getting tortured.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah, cause I’m definitely not gonna tell you that, you see, which is a shame really, because that only leaves torture, and that sucks not only for me, but for _ you _, since that still won’t make me spill the beans.’

‘You don’t care ab—’

‘No. There is no way I’m letting you get your hands on that Pandora’s box. Listen, buddy, I don’t know what your exact motivations are but meddling with time means meddling with reality and alternate dimensions and all kinds of fucked up magical gewgaw that may open Quantum rifts over here and/or potentially mess up the entire universe, so no. Go ahead, torture me.’

Doc straightened up, eyeing him as if he were some sort of rare specimen that he was trying to classify. 

‘No. I’ll torture the kids first and make sure you _ hear _them. We’ll start with the fat one. Shocker!’

_ Okay, check. That one’s still alive. _

Tony had the entire room memorized in his head now and a precise classification of the men around him. Doc visibly lacked confidence and the kind of aura of indifference that such a job required. He was clearly doing this for very personal reasons only. He was weak, physically and psychologically, and just, well, a nutjob. The two men in that corner over there were a whole different story. They looked related, except one of them looked much older. Father and son, most likely. They were clearly trained, cold-blooded and dangerous, but not after gratuitous violence. They had a code. Professionals. The last one was harmless, at least physically. He was a chubby nerd sitting in front of a computer. Probably Doc’s assistant. There was a gun on his desk. Tony was only a dozen feet away from it. There was only one visible exit, but he knew of another behind him thanks to his earlier reconnaissance of the place. The arc reactor was glowing light blue on his right. He had already thought of four different ways to blow the whole place up, and maybe of one to get his hands on that gun if circumstances favored him, all without having to wait for his suit to show up. So far, so good.

It was hard keeping his mask of indifference when Ned was brought in, a man pushing him forwards with his gun. The kid was panting and heaving and his pants were wet. Tony was instantly fuming.

_ Fucking assholes… Come on, keep a clear mind… That’s six. They took a few seconds to come here so that answers my question. Peter’s in the other warehouse with Beck, Toomes, Gargan, MJ and someone else. _

‘Tony Stark! Shit!’ the man walking behind Ned boomed,_ laughing _ . ‘Yeah, sorry, we already played with Spidey’s friend a little as you can see…’ he laughed again and Tony had the urge to spit in his face but he was too far. ‘Man, I gotta tell you, I’m a little starstruck. Oh, no need to make that face! Shit, I can’t believe I’m looking at you right now! What d’you do to him?’ he turned to the professionals, then to Doc. _ ‘Really?’ _He was back to cackling like a clown. Ned was gaping at Tony, unable to speak. He then looked down at his own shoes in shame, eyes wet. 

‘They did this to you, you have nothing to be ashamed of’, Tony told him.

_ It’s gonna be alright, kid, _ he wanted to add but he was cut by more laughter.

‘Yeah so… I frankly don’t give a shit about time travel, I just wanna make your boy _ cry_, Stark; and using his best friend was so much easier, you know what I’m sayin’? It’s nothing personal, kid, I swear’, he added, still fucking _laughing._

Tony glanced over at the two professionals in the corner. They weren’t laughing at all. Nor was the computer guy, clearly uneasy. The fucked up scientist didn’t give a shit. He was reviewing some notes on a tablet. ‘Kill him’, he said, unflinching.

Ned looked helplessly over at Tony as his captor swiftly raised his gun to his head.

‘Wait!’ Tony shouted. ‘Before or after the Gaussian noise annulation?’

‘Before.’

‘If you need me to say it out loud, it’s gonna take a while.’

‘I have all day.’

* * *

‘You’re protecting him.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Yes, you are.’

‘I just don’t want anyone else to suffer for him. Hurt him, but directly. Not like this.’

Gargan stared at him with disgust.

‘Listen’, Toomes went on. ‘The kids were just tools to drag him up here and then Stark with him, nothing more. If you wanna torture him, go ahead, enjoy yourself, but not like this.’

The psychopath was close to his face, examining him.

‘You don’t want him dead...’

‘I do. That little shit is the reason I lost my family, what do you _ think? _ But the girl? Can I be honest with you? She reminds me of my daughter. _ ’ _

Gargan visibly relaxed at that.

‘Shit, man… Alright then. I’ll focus on him now.’

‘May I interject here?’

Both men turned to Beck.

‘If psychological torture is what you're looking for, I may have a way of making him _believe_ his girl’s getting raped when she actually isn’t.’

‘Really? Just like that?’ Gargan asked, genuinely interested. Toomes cringed.

‘Yeah, well… my team and I may have prepared a few illusions of that nature beforehand, just in case…’

‘You sick motherfucker’, Pitch Black said. It was one of the best compliments he could give.

* * *

He was in a cell with no windows. He got up with a gasp but then something paralyzed him and he fell, overcome with pain in his back up to his neck. When he opened his eyes again, MJ was right in front of him, lying on the ground too, gagged and blindfolded. 

‘MJ!’

What went on then was so horrifying that he actually blacked out for a moment without actually fainting. He saw it all. He saw_ everything. _And then, when he was finally able to react, he closed his eyes and lost his voice screaming, straining with all his might against the device preventing him from properly moving. It kept sending shocks down his spine. After a while he stopped trying. He lost track of time. He just lay there, his face against the floor, limbs limp, eyes still tightly shut, hearing her getting brutally raped by that masked man. He never once opened his eyes again during the act but it was too late: the sight of MJ being tortured like that was already imprinted in his brain forever, just like her strangled screams and helpless begging. He listened to her with utter despair and all-consuming guilt. She kept repeating his name, begging him to make the man stop, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. He just softly wept and told her ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. Only when it was finally over did he dare open an eye. The man grabbed her by her beautiful hair and threw her out of the cell. Peter was so traumatized he didn’t even react. 

And then everything happened in a minute. Gargan applauded, impressed. He and Pitch Black had insisted on watching the whole thing on a projected screen, Peter included. Revenge was sweet, but it was even sweeter if it involved a good old rape on camera. Plus, she was cute. Pitch Black had taken his dick out and was still lazily jerking off. Toomes was very quiet. He had turned away from the footage, a very dark expression on his face. Beck had not left Peter’s face during the first minute, and then had just left the building.

‘Fuck it’, he heard Pitch Black say. ‘Fuck your code, grandpa.’ 

Toomes heard him move. He heard him step towards the cell where the real MJ was locked up.

He heard Gargan _ laugh _and follow him. ‘_Fuck yeah_. Sorry, man. Just don't watch. Step outside for a minute, okay?’ he said, slapping him hard on the back as he passed him.

He heard the lock slide open. He heard MJ gasp. He heard her beg and that was it. He took his gun out, stepped towards the door a dozen feet away and fired right at the back of Gargan’s head. The man stopped in his tracks and fell right on his face.

_ For Little Vaughn, _ he thought. 

Pitch Black turned round still with his hard dick out of his pants and swiftly took his gun out. Both men fired at the same time. Toomes took a bullet in the chest first but kept firing. MJ was screaming. He fell backwards to the floor, defeated. 

That was it. He was going to die. He never should’ve partnered up with Gargan in the first place. He never should’ve succumbed to his sick desire for revenge. He should’ve stayed in prison, served his time like anyone else... 

Reading books with the kid...

Black appeared above him, his wide-eyed hateful face looming over him, and he spat right onto his forehead.

‘I knew it... I should’ve fucking killed you right away you fucking traitor. That’s what you get f—’

BANG.

Pitch Black never finished his sentence. Toomes closed his eyes as the rapist’s blood was sprayed all over his own face. The lifeless body fell hard, partially over him. Toomes hit it with disgust, writhing away from its weight. He then looked up and gaped at the teenage girl, tears still glistening on her face, right arm still outstretched and holding Gargan’s famous handgun marked with an engraved scorpion on the left side of its grip. She slowly let her arm go down, breathing heavily—in shock. She had just shot a man in the head at point blank range. Her face was sprinkled with blood. She then looked down at Toomes and they exchanged a look. Her arm went up again, pointing right at him now. Toomes silently begged. But he didn’t have to.

‘Let Peter and Ned go’, she ordered him.

A big distant blast interrupted their exchange. _ Stark… _ Toomes thought. _ How stupid had they been, thinking they could oversmart the guy... _

‘What was that?’

‘I have no idea’, Toomes answered honestly. ‘Nothing good.’

‘Get Peter out! Now!’

Toomes was thinking. No matter how hard he tried, the hatred he had for that boy didn’t go away. It meant that he couldn’t possibly consider letting him go that easily. On the other hand, the thing he had just endured… it certainly did count as revenge, right?

BANG.

MJ had shot at the floor next to his feet.

‘Alright, alright!’ he shouted.

He took the device out of his pocket and pressed it. Five seconds later, Peter had his hand around his neck, cutting his airway, crushing it slowly. 

‘No! Peter, don’t! He saved me! He shot them! He stopped them from raping me! I wasn’t raped! It was an illusion! He stopped them!’

Of course she had heard everything from her cell, screaming in vain at Peter that everything was fake. How he hadn’t heard her, she didn’t know. Peter let go of Toomes who fell to the floor, unconscious.

‘Oh my god, did you kill him? Peter? Peter? Peter, look at me, I’m okay! I’m okay! Look at me! Oh my god, what did they do to you?’ she sobbed.

He finally reacted by dropping to his knees next to Toomes’s body and checking if he was still breathing. He wasn’t. His neck was purple. 

‘MJ…’ he gasped. ‘do you remember that CPR class we had?’

‘Y—yeah, I think so!’

‘Come on!’

They worked together, Peter pressing the older man’s chest in rhythm, stopping every 30 compressions for MJ to breathe twice into Toomes’s mouth, pinching his nose. They had no way to call 911 right now, but after half a minute or so, Toomes was breathing again, still unconscious. They stopped when MJ threw up all over the floor, Peter leaning his face against her back, pressing his hand on it for comfort, trying to calm his own breathing. Suddenly, his senses picked up a presence. He sat up like a meerkat, grabbing MJ’s arm in a silent warning and in an attempt at getting her behind him. But no, he wasn’t picking up any threat...

Someone finally appeared, entering the large, high-ceilinged warehouse through the front door they could see from where they were, and Peter immediately buried his face against MJ, unable to hold that gaze.

Iron Man was here in full armor. He stopped, staring at them. The new Captain America appeared behind him.

‘Where’s Ned?’ MJ cried out.

Neither of them answered.

* * *

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it’, Tony confirmed, slightly moving his head to mark his words.

‘No tricks.’

‘No tricks.’

‘Are you done, Mason?’

‘N—not yet. But it adds up. It makes sense, it looks… right. Oh my god… Sorry, it’s just… it’s… it’s amazing... sorry, I’m getting a little emotional’, he sniffed.

‘Exciting, isn’t it? I went back to 1970 myself, met my own father, couldn’t believe it!’ Tony told the teary nerd.

‘And you thought you could keep that tech to yourself, didn’t you? Tatata…’ Doc clicked his tongue in mock disapproval.

‘Got it’, Mason said.

There was a solemn silence. All of them were holding their breaths, Ned included, watching the whole thing with incommensurable awe.

‘Us first’, one of the professionals abruptly said, now holding out a test tube full of—

_ Oh shit. A Pym particle! How on earth have they acquired a fucking Pym particle? _Tony had _ not _seen that coming at all. He glanced over at the other one and sure enough, he was holding one too. Oh God, that meant—

‘No _fucking_ way. I’ve been working on this for the better part of a year and what did you do again?’

Tony tried to garner Ned’s attention then, but the kid was gaping at his captors.

‘We brought you where you are now.’

‘No, you didn’t.’

_ Come on, _ he thought. _ Look at me… Come on... _

‘You would _ never _ have gone that far without us, without _this_', Ponytail rumbled, holding out the red tube.

‘Maybe, but you’re just brainless hitmen. Getting the Pym particles was the _easy_ part! _ I _ created all of this. _ I _should go first.’ 

Ned finally glanced over at him after Tony let out an exaggerated goofy laugh, locking eyes with the kid and widening them as large as he could. ‘Can you believe these guys, Ned?’ he snorted. Ned looked at him as if he’d grown another head. The quarreling men ignored him.

‘_Easy?_ You think this was _easy?'_

'Compared to _my_ work!'

'Beck would _never_ have got his hands on Stark’s notes if not for _us, _you ungrateful_ засранец!_ You _needed_ us! You _owe_ this to us!’, Ponytail barked.

Tony threw a quick glance across the room. Ned's captor was gone. Nobody was watching. Ned had understood his very unsubtle sign. He was waiting. Quick. He winked pointedly at him and mouthed_ ‘duck’_. Ned stared back at him, confused, and then mouthed: _ ‘what?’ _

‘Why do you care anyway? This is _my_ creation, _ I _ go first, and then it’s your turn! Why do you care?’

_ ‘Duck’_, Tony repeated, still staring at the men to make sure no-one was watching.

_ ‘Duck?’ _ Ned mouthed back, completely puzzled. He then slowly moved his arms to mime the wings of a chicken, frowning. Tony enthusiastically nodded. Ned thought he must have lost it. The great Tony Stark, playing charades with him while strapped to a chair next to a time machine. If he survived this, it would make one hell of a tale. But then Tony moved his head down and Ned got it. He was asking him to duck. 

‘Because if you fooled us there is no way for us to make you pay. You’ll be already gone.’

‘Why on earth would I trick you? We made a _ deal _ and I’m a man of my word.’

_‘Now?’_ Ned asked, still only mouthing the word. Tony shook his head. Glancing over at the four men, he then did something with his mouth, blowing his cheeks and then releasing the air. _ POOF. _

_ Oh my god, is he saying what I think he’s saying? _ Ned thought in a panic. _ Oh my god, no way! He’s gonna blow us all up? Is he insane? _

‘And anyway since I’m going first, since _ I’m _ using _ my own machine _ first, what better way to make sure this is properly operational? I’m testing it for you! You should be relieved if anything!’

‘Whoops, by the way, I forgot to mention something’, Tony intervened. ‘I’m warning you, you’re not gonna like it.’

‘What?’ Doc said.

‘Yeah, two journeys? That’s not gonna work…You see…’ Tony went on.

‘No… No… I double-checked the power requi—…’

‘Yeah but you see, that was before we added the Quantum GPS and that takes a lot more power than you apparently originally calculated, so sorry to break it to you, but you’re short of at least 1.2 Gigawatts for you to consider two separate journeys without any recharge. And a recharge on that model is simply impossible. You’ll have to build another one. Oh, but Doc’ll be away, right? So who’s gonna do that? Me, I guess? Oh, but by that time the entire US army will be on your ass. Want some advice? Honestly, don’t do this, because if you do, you’re not coming back.’

‘I don’t want to come back. I want my family back.’

‘Are you sure there’s not enough for two journeys?’ Ponytail asked him.

‘Positive.’

‘You lied to us…’ he growled at Doc, lifting his rifle with both hands.

‘No. No. Dmitri, come on... I—I swear to you, I didn’t—’

_Dmitri?_

‘Mason. April 4, 1926. Leningrad. Do it. Now’, the imposing guy went on.

_ Wait, what? _

‘I—I don’t know what to do, I—’ Mason stammered.

‘Then think. Fast’, the older professional said, pointing his own rifle at Mason’s head.

‘Okay, okay… Saint Petersburg, I mean, _Leningrad.._. anywhere in Leningrad?

'Anywhere.'

'Okay, okay... hang on... okay... 04...04...1926…’

_Super secret Soviet spies? Hydra, maybe? _He saw Doc slowly backing up towards the arc reactor in the corner of his right eye.

‘Don’t move or I’ll blow your brains out’, Ponytail ordered him.

Tony met Ned’s eyes again._ ‘Ready?’, _ he mouthed, pressing his fake middle and ring finger to his own palm almost Spider-Man style, summoning his suit. A horrified Ned shook his head. Tony turned to look at the computer guy quickly typing, a drop of sweat escaping his hairline.

‘Got it’, he said before hitting a key.

‘Now!’ Tony shouted.

There was a wheezing, rising sound and Tony moved fast, making the chair—and himself with it—fall to the side. The blast was deafening, the portal opening with it with blinding light, wavering, glitching, _ unstable. _Doc, the closest to it, was knocked over, hard, probably dead.

‘Aaaarrgghh!’ someone screamed.

His suit was exactly 25 seconds away now but it was too late. He had anticipated every reaction. Every single reaction but this one. The older Russian spy insanely charged towards Ned, yelling like a caveman, grabbed him by the _neck_, _ lifting _ him with super strength, fired his rifle towards the ceiling, and ran straight towards the blinding, glitching portal in a surge of pure madness.

‘Sergei! _No!’_

Ponytail went after his dad—or brother, cousin, boyfriend, who cared— and Tony watched in horror as a choking Ned suddenly disappeared into the unstable vortex with the old guy, followed by the second one, before the whole thing snapped out of existence, transporting the three men far, far away from their reality, with no suit, no mask, no protection whatsoever, somewhere within the infinite spectrum of Quantum combinations.

He had deliberately thrown in a tiny mistake into one of the equations for the portal to create a blast of energy upon its appearance and for it to be utterly uncontrollable, but he had _not_ anticipated the fact that they had somehow gotten their hands on the precious particles. That meant it may have actually _worked_. They may have actually _survived_ the trip. But there were other huge issues for them, the biggest of all being that they had disappeared with_ two_ particles, not three. And then, even if two of them _did_ survive this, for all he knew they might be in 18th-century France right now. Without a properly working GPS, statistically, they were however more likely to have ended up inside of a fucking volcano. Chances that they had died directly upon re-entry were high. Very high. Chances to_ find _ them were almost null.

_ Oh, I blew it, _he thought.

‘Wow. That was so cool!’, the computer nerd exclaimed, actually_ cheering. _

His suit wheezed past his ear and in a second he was free, right before another illusion from that son of a bitch started. _ Beck. _ He barely had the time to conjure up an image of Peter screaming on the floor before Tony hacked into _ all _ of his fucking drones _ at once_, making them drop like dead flies onto the floor crashing, one of them barely missing Tony’s head, another landing right on top of the computer guy, knocking him out cold like a puppet.

_ Thought commands, motherfucker_.

‘Aw… disappointed, are we? You didn’t _ actually _ think you could beat me at stealth tech, did you?’

_ ‘Fuck you…’ _ Beck threw at him with all the rage he could muster, red in the face, trembling and dragging the f like a pissed off teenager.

‘That’s all you got? Well, I can’t say I’m really surprised. You were never all that smart, weren’t you, Quentin?’

‘Aaaaarrgghh!’

Beck lost his mind, charging at Iron Man himself with nothing but some sweat suit on and a gun that was quickly empty, causing but superfluous damage to the super strong metal. But then, speaking of metal, something hit him hard in the chest, right against his own arc reactor, some kind of metal arm, and when he looked over at the thing, he had to take a few seconds.

_ What the actual fuck. _

It was Doc. Doc attacking him wearing his own suit of armor now, light silver, almost white, with large goggles on his face, a fucking _ pointed helmet _of all things, and last but not least, a whole set of metal arms writhing about around him, making him look like some sort of insect. 

‘Wow… that is… wow… I’m actually speechless right now and that doesn’t happen very often so… congratulations, I guess.’

CLANG. Metal against metal, armor to armor, Doc was suddenly fighting to kill. Tony, however, was much, _ much _ smarter. 

‘Analyze his fight pattern.’

‘Right away, boss’, F.R.I.D.A.Y chimed in.

‘What the _ fuck _ are you _ doing? _ ’ Beck screamed. ‘You can’t beat him, you _idiot! _Gooo!’

Doc suddenly stopped and then, to Tony’s bewilderment, every one of his mechanized arms went down, loudly knocking against the concrete floor, lifting him up, and then they started _ drilling_.

‘What the f—’

In an instant, he was gone, fucking drilling his escape into the ground like a mole.

‘Well, that beats Insect Lady by a big stretch', Tony thought out loud.

Beck was running away. Tony didn’t hesitate for a second. He shot him in the leg using one his repulsor blasters, effectively amputating him of another limb on the spot. Beck screamed but thankfully didn’t pass out. Tony slowly approached him, and the asshole looked up to see Iron Man’s impassive helmet staring down at him.

‘This is for Peter, you sick son of a bitch. You touch him again, I aim for the head.’

Beck just moaned, apparently unable to speak, but then...

‘He loves you… jerks off to you… I saw him…’

Tony extended his palm towards him again, aiming at his other arm.

‘And this… is for that little illusion you showed me when I got here.’

He fired too late. Someone caught his arm and the beam of energy collided with a wall instead. 

_ Rhodey. _

He had been about to shoot an unarmed man already bleeding on the floor. _Moral compass. Right. _

Rhodey applied some frozen disinfectant onto Beck’s leg while Tony went for the other warehouse, taking off to get there fast, dread in his chest. Sam Wilson met him in the air through heavy snow.

‘What happened?’ Cap 2.0 shouted.

‘Beck’s injured. One of their guys too. Toomes and Gargan are up there probably with other men, guarding Peter and the girl.’

‘Where’s his friend Ned?’

Tony didn’t answer.

‘Oh shit.’

When he entered the warehouse first, Sam behind him, seeing Peter and MJ alive was an instant relief but he couldn’t quite contain the pain in his chest upon simply seeing him here, right here in front of him after all this time. He was clearly shaken, on the floor next to a body before the door of what looked like a stockroom, hugged by his friend and hiding his face against her.

_ Oh my love, what have they done to you? _

The body was Toomes.

‘Where’s Ned?’ MJ asked.

Neither of them answered. 

‘Oh my god...’ she then exclaimed in a high voice.

Tony retracted his helmet, revealing his sad and shameful bloody face. ‘I’m sorry’, he just said. Peter didn’t react. God, he was not reacting at all. Tony braced himself.

Sam then noticed the blood on the floor leading to the room. He went in and discovered the second body. ‘Where’s Gargan?’ he asked.

‘What? He’s here!’ MJ cried out, but he wasn't anymore. He had fallen right outside the door, but the floor there was now empty.

_ God, she’s got blood all over her face. And Peter’s still not reacting, not looking at me. What have they done to them... _

‘Where?’

‘He—he was right here!’ she said, voice cracking.

‘There’s only one body in here’, Sam called out while feeling Toomes's weak pulse.

‘No. No. He was shot in the head!’

Tony slowly moved towards the room, still looking at Peter, at the back of his head leaning against MJ. When he finally moved it was so fast Tony barely had time to register what was happening. He was gone in _a second, _jumping past him like a bullet.

‘Peter!’ Tony shouted after him, running towards the front door before lighting his blasters and taking off.

He was fast. God was he fast. Initially, Tony thought he was after Gargan, but it didn’t make any sense now as he watched him through the snow from fifty feet above the ground sprinting faster than an Olympic champion, not pausing for a single second to figure out where he was going, just running and running and running, past a fucking highway—thankfully almost empty—and then into a large field, and then another one, into the cold December air, his figure barely visible through the light blizzard, his feet leaving a long and narrow trail in the grass covered in fresh snow.

Tony let him run, understanding what was going on.

He was running out of _grief. _

He followed him in silence until he stopped in the middle of nowhere, dropping to his knees in the snow not too far from a house, and then he screamed at the top of his lungs, making Tony’s hair stand on end even inside his suit.

_ Shit. _

_ Shit. _

_ Shit! _

He gently touched down next to him, arms along his body, hands outstretched, and from a distance he looked like a toy dropped by Santa in the vast expanse of snow. Peter had big fat snowflakes in his brown hair. Tony got rid of his suit, knelt at his side and moved his arms to hold him but Peter jumped.

And then he grabbed him by the throat.

_ Shit. The arm. The hair. _There was no way he didn’t look like an illusion right now to Peter, and he couldn’t speak with that super grip on his throat. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t explain anything to him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. Peter was going to kill him. God, what a way to go. 

_ Take that, Shakespeare. _

By some fucking miracle Peter let go of him before he passed out. He hit the ground hard, chin first, biting his own lip in the process. It was fucking freezing and his feet were bare.

‘You know what? You win’, Peter said, kneeling back into the snow in defeat. ‘Kill me. Just kill me. I’m tired of fighting. It’ll be hard, though… I don’t really know how to do it myself… Maybe drop me into space or something… or just suffocate me. Yeah... that’ll work.’

When he stopped coughing like a grandpa with lung cancer, Tony spoke fast.

‘Rappahannock’, he managed to wheeze out of his damaged throat. He didn’t see Peter’s reaction. He then dropped by his side, lying in the snow, and looked up at him. The look of despair that he saw in Peter’s face was as breathtakingly beautiful as it was gut-wrenching, surrounded as they were by snowflakes falling, their breaths hot clouds of steam escaping their mouths, and he took his hand, his limp hand in his, squeezing it. ‘This is a prosthetic arm’, he said but then stopped, coughing some more. ‘A prototype.’ He paused again. ‘I— I look a bit younger because of the alien treatment I received. It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m stronger now than I used to be. Not quite like you, though’, he smiled.

Peter studied his face in silence, and Tony admired a single tear trickling down his face, from his eye to his jaw, transfixed by his beauty. He looked thinner, his angles sharper. His small lips were red and trembling. His skin was unusually white, almost blue.

‘What happened to Ned?’ he asked in a voice that reminded him of Morgan’s when she was crying too much. 

‘It’s my fault’, Tony said, not being able to look away from his tormented brown eyes. ‘I made a mistake... He—he got—he got sucked up into another dimension…’ he explained, and the words sounded so fucking ridiculous he couldn’t quite contain the nervous beginning of a laugh. He managed to swallow it down however, but barely.

Peter didn’t break eye contact and then commented: ‘Pretty cool way to go.’

‘Yeah’, Tony breathed out, a tear escaping one of his eyes at the same time, surprising himself. Peter was still looking at him with despair but there was tenderness there too now, and he almost smiled. Tony felt the overwhelming need to kiss him, to hold him, to make him feel better, but he couldn't. God, he coudn't.

‘Listen. None of this is your fault._ None _ of this, you hear me? Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of this. I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve protected him better. He should’ve stayed at the compound. I should’ve—’

‘So he’s not dead', Peter interrupted him.

Tony looked down and began to shake his head, meaning: _ No, sweetheart, don’t hope…_

‘There’s no way to know’, he said instead. ‘He’s gone. I’m sorry.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Pete…’

‘We can _ try, _ right? To find him.’

‘No… Pete… listen... it’s not even a one in a trillion—’

‘How’, Peter cut him off, now inches from his face. ‘Tell me how to travel through dimensions and I’ll find him.’

Tony couldn’t talk. Not with the love of his life inches away from him like that, half-lying in the snow. Peter’s gaze travelled to his lips and there was no time to think; he dived in and Tony’s mind went blank. They kissed hard, too hard, and Tony moaned loudly, too loudly, gripping the back of the young superhero’s head, trying to bring him closer and closer even though he couldn’t possibly be, even though this _ certainly _ wasn’t the time to give in to their forbidden desire. Peter parted Tony’s lips with his _ teeth _ and he tasted his blood, plunging his tongue inside his mouth, deepening their kiss in such a feral way—so brutal, so _ intense— _that Tony opened his eyes. 

_ No. This isn’t right. _

And then Peter pulled back crying, eyes closed. Tony watched his scrunched up face sobbing above him and he lovingly bracketed it with his hands, real and fake.

‘Peter…’

He stroked a strand of hair out of his forehead. 

_ ‘Sweetheart…’ _he whispered.

Peter dropped his head in the crook of his neck and kept on sobbing against him, holding tight onto his shoulders, pressing Tony down against the snow-covered grass. Tony held him close, gently caressing his hair, his neck, his back... but he didn’t say anything. 

There was nothing to say.

Standing upon the little hill overlooking the meadow, Sam Wilson was staring at the unlikely couple below, deep in thought.


	27. Aftermath

‘Help!’

He couldn’t see anything. 

‘Help!’

He was slowly advancing against the icy wind, barely hearing his own voice, an arm thrown around his face.

‘Help!’

He was trying to see something, _anything_ through the blizzard, but simply keeping his eyes open was a challenge_. _With each step the snow seemed to be even deeper, soon reaching his knees and making it hard for him to keep going without falling. He did several times, each time getting back to his feet swaying, desperately seeking a chance at survival, searching for any form of life, of human presence, of _civilization._

_This isn’t Saint Petersburg._

He remembered suddenly choking, the screaming superman’s grip around his neck, and then he remembered falling into an endless pit of colorful lights, still unable to breathe. Back in the warehouse, he had very attentively watched and listened to _everything_, his survival instinct telling him he shouldn’t miss a thing; and so, in a striking surge of lucidity during that endless fall through the Quantum tunnel, he had held on to the man’s arm getting limp around his neck and _snatched_ the red tube from his hand. For a fleeting instant, he had caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes getting wide in horror, and then the old super spy had simply vanished. He had been free; free but dying from the lack of air. Right when his vision had started to turn black, the spinning had stopped. He had landed in the snow, alone and helpless.

_Saint Petersburg, April 1926._

Where were the beautiful 18th-century buildings he’d seen on the Internet? Had he landed a little too far? Outside the city? April… this didn’t feel like April at all… But then again this was Russia, and Saint Petersburg was not that far from the Arctic...

_Russia..._

_No, the Soviet Union._

_Before World War Two._

_1926, oh God..._

_But what if Tony Stark deliberately messed everything up and this is actually the Ice Age, long before humanity even appeared?_

He tried not to panic, not to succumb to the irresistible temptation to just sit in the snow and cry to death. He only had two T-shirts and a Christmas sweater on. His pants were still wet. He would probably die pretty quickly if he stopped.

After a long and harrowing walk, he finally saw something. A tree. 

_Okay… At least I’m not in the Arctic… Oh please let it be Canada… Please God, let it be Canada…_

It was a forest. He walked into it and there he could finally see a bit better, sheltered from the wind and snow, but everything seemed dead. It was just a forest in winter. A wild one. No trace of human presence whatsoever. 

‘Help!’

What if he attracted a bear shouting like that? _Oh my god, they have a lot of bears in Russia!_ _Grizzlis! Do they have grizzlis?_

He didn’t have any choice. It was either walking into the forest or freezing to death a lot sooner because of the wind.

He walked and walked for ages, so cold he couldn’t feel his feet, trying to protect his hands under his armpits, his nose almost continuously running, his teeth almost painfully chattering. He tried wiggling his toes to keep a semblance of warmth in them but he knew he wouldn’t last long anyway. He was going to die here.

And then he saw it. Was it his desperate mind playing tricks on him? He fell several times trying to reach it faster. A trail. A forest trail. A miracle! When he finally stepped onto it, he broke into a run—or a slow jog, rather. _When were forest trails invented?_ Probably thousands of years ago... so that didn’t mean he really was in 1926, but at least this meant that there were _people_ here.

_Okay, okay, my eyelashes are not frozen up. So that means it’s not that cold, right? April… April 1926… Is this really happening?_

He was a real-life time traveller. Like the kid from _Back to the Future_, but yeah... _real._

_No. No way. This is too crazy. This is a dream. This is a dream and I’m gonna wake up very soon. It has to be._

It soon turned into one when he passed out.

He woke up feeling very warm, too warm, and_ sick. _Someone was talking. His throat was scratchy and he couldn’t breathe through his nose. He opened his eyes when he realized it wasn’t English he was hearing._ Russian._ He gasped when everything rushed back into his memory.

He was in a wooden house, lying in a bed with far too many covers almost crushing him under their weight. An old woman was sitting next to him. She looked a hundred years old and he couldn’t understand a word she was saying. She looked nice, though, smiling at him with her thousand wrinkles, and when she handed him a bowl full of hot liquid—tea—he burst into tears.

‘Thank you… thank you so much… you have no idea what I’ve… oh hang on, uh… spass— spassiba?’

The woman’s face changed when he spoke English. She had clearly not been expecting _that._ But then it lit up as soon as he tried to say one of the few Russian words he knew, and she repeated it with a nod and a smile.

‘Спасибо! Хорошо! Ты англичанин?’ she said in her really high granny voice.

‘What? I—I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

‘Англичанин? Aмериканский? Китаец?’

‘Oh, oh American? Yes! Yes, I’m American!’

And then he burst into tears again. The woman patted him awkwardly on the shoulder and then walked away only to come back with the small reproduction of a painting. It was the portrait of a little blue-eyed baby girl wearing a scarf around her head, its style both old-fashioned and elegant, making him think of old American poster ads from the fifties. It was some kind of object, he realized. She handed it to him saying something, and he stared at it, puzzled.

‘Шоколад!’

‘Oh, oh chocolate? Oh, thank you! Spassiba! Spassiba...’

She smiled, patting his hair a little in a typical granny move, and she kept on talking to him in a soothing voice that made him want to cry even more. It was milk chocolate. It was _heaven_ half-melted in the strong tea she had made him. 

He closed his eyes as he took the last chunk of it in his mouth, trying to calm himself down. When he opened them again, he gingerly took a look around the small bedroom, scared of what he would see, scared that it would confirm that this was indeed the _twenties_, that the nightmare was_ real. _Everything looked old. It was the typical cliché of a Russian granny’s house, the one you would expect to see in a movie, complete with precious-looking little knick-knacks and ornament plates on a sculpted wooden shelf. But then, on that very shelf, he saw something that made his heart jump in his throat.

A color photograph.

‘Oh!’ he cried out, making the poor woman jump.

_They didn’t exist, did they? At least not in random people’s houses! Oh but what if this is a colorized black and white one? People used to do that… they used to paint their… oh!_

A solution dawned on him. The expiration date. That chocolate bar had to have an expiration date. When were expiration dates invented? He had to check! He fumbled for the wrapping paper, not finding it. The woman looked frightened now, not understanding at all why he looked so agitated all of a sudden.

‘Sorry! I—I need the wrapping paper of the chocolate bar! The chocolate bar! Uh, _showkowlad?’’_

She got out of the room, scuttling out in her little granny walk apparently as fast as she could, and he thought he had scared her away, but then, a few seconds later, she re-emerged with yet another chocolate bar, and it was the sweetest thing ever. He chuckled through his tears.

‘Oh, no, no, no, I meant… just the paper, but thank you… thank you… _spassiba.’_

He awkwardly took it from her hand. She had a worried frown on her impossibly wrinkled face now. He turned the bar around with trembling fingers. _Please, please use Arabic numerals, please use Arabic numerals, please use—_

He spotted a ‘5’. _Oh, thank God. _And then a ‘100 г’ which he assumed meant 100 grams. And then, here it was. 

Ned stared at it, a deep and solemn sense of fate hitting him hard like a final verdict. That was it. That right there... was his sentence.

_31.12.1994_

‘Oh my god’, he breathed out, overcome with emotion. 

There was some relief, sure, but it lasted no longer than a second. He was unable to feel any joy. It was as if he had just learned he had a serious disease but would still be able to maintain a relatively normal life, instead of a previous, far more somber diagnosis. He thought about his mom. She was alive, somewhere in Hawaii right now. 

And then, it hit him.

Someone else was very much alive in 1994. 

_Tony Stark._

* * *

Monday, December 18, 2023.

‘Come on… we need to go…’

It took everything in him not to kiss Peter again. The teenager slowly got off his chest, the top of his head lingering below his bearded chin for a moment, tousled brown hair brushing against it and making Tony want to reach out and pull him in his arms again. They were both absolutely freezing, barefoot in the fresh snow still gently falling around them. Tony’s teeth were chattering, and his throat hurt, the lingering pain of Peter’s grip on it making it slightly harder to breathe. He slowly moved to get up too, but as he did, he spotted him—Sam, silently staring at them some fifty yards away on the side of a little hill. There was a long and narrow trail in the snow behind him. He had been walking down towards them but was now frozen—unsure of what to do.

‘Shit’, Tony said out loud, now on his knees in the snow and dropping his head in silent dejection. 

_You gotta be shitting me… Can’t we catch a fucking break?_

He got on his feet with difficulty, pushing his prosthetic hand against his right knee with a faint grunt of pain and a couple of coughs, and then reluctantly looked up, at Sam first, and then at Peter, and he was taken aback. Peter wasn’t looking down at all. He was holding Sam’s gaze with dignity, and even a hint of aggressiveness. His face was all puffy; it was wet with tears and snot, but he held himself straight. He wiped his nose against his bare arm still not breaking eye contact with Captain America, as if to say: _Go ahead, judge me, I won’t give a shit anyways. _It was quiet strength and pride Tony had never seen on him and had certainly not been expecting at that moment. He looked..._ resolute_. When he finally dropped his gaze, the vulnerability was still there but considerably subdued. 

‘Come on’, Tony repeated, his voice weak and shaky. He reached out to touch Peter’s arm but the young man recoiled from his touch; and then he walked past him without a word nor look. That hurt more than it should have. Tony looked down again, not moving after him, a wave of hot shame and misery suddenly hitting him hard, pain shooting in his chest in a way it hadn’t had for months. When he lifted his eyes again, Peter was already yards ahead, not waiting for him at all. 

Sam was staring at _him_ now. Tony couldn’t hold his gaze as Peter had. His head gave a little involuntary tilt of unease and then he tapped his chest, finally triggering the imposing Iron Man suit to heat his trembling body, but the truth was, it was more to hide his face at that moment than to avoid getting frostbite.

Sam didn’t say anything. Not a single word. He didn’t wait for him either. He escorted Peter to the Avengers’ jet waiting for them near the warehouses and ignored him altogether. 

_Just like the others... _

Happy, Rhodey, Bruce and now him… He couldn’t decide whether their silence was better than Pepper’s confrontational approach or worse. He had been avoiding the compound for months, unwilling to subject himself to that unbearable wordless shaming, and now here he was, stuck on a jet with all four of them and _Peter_. 

_Peter... _

He really was a sick man. The ghost touch of the boy’s lips pressed against his own was giving him crazy thoughts. He made sure to isolate himself as best he could on the small plane, sitting away from them all, and as soon as he found himself slumped under a fleece blanket in the comfortable leather seat, all bruised up and sore and still trembling from the cold—at least that was what he told himself—, he grabbed a tissue and wiped his mouth with insistence as if the gesture alone could erase his burning desire. He felt feverish. God, his lips were still tingling. 

‘Shit…’, he kept whispering.

Sam had seen them kiss. Of course he had. He could hear them whispering. At one point he even heard Peter’s sweet voice. He closed his eyes, the shame mixing with consuming love that was almost suffocating. He’d tried staying away, he really had, and he had succeeded! But now that he had tasted him again, the ache was even worse._ Calm down, it’s not that bad, Peter isn’t a_ _child_, he told himself, desperately trying to dull the shame. He was seventeen now. He was _legal._ He was officially a _young adult. _

_Who are you kidding? This doesn’t make it **okay**! _

He kept fidgeting during the entire flight, itching to simply jump off the plane and fly home in his suit; but that would be even more humiliating. He braced himself for the possible if not inevitable inquisition from his old friends, and for their barely repressed disgust_. _He fleetingly imagined himself jumping off the plane with no suit at all.

_Shit._

When they landed next to the brand new Avengers Compound, he didn’t move, letting all of them get off the plane first. He half expected Rhodey to wait for him with his trademark frown of disapproval, or Sam to confront him about that fucked-up thing he’d just seen, but when he painfully stood up and turned towards the exit door, he was alone.

‘Mr. Stark?’

The voice made him jump. For a nanosecond he thought it was Peter’s, but it was just Dr. Cortez entering the jet. She was a brilliant young doctor fresh from Stanford University and specialized in superhuman and alien anatomy. They had recently recruited her but Tony had never met her in person until now. 

‘I'm Dr. Cortez. Mr. Hogan sent me here to examine you and attend to your injuries. Would you please have a seat?’

_Happy.._. They hadn’t spoken to each other since his first day in rehab after his ‘76 meltdown. He had come to visit Tony a week later. They had shared a wordless moment, a long silent look across the large waiting room of the facility, and Tony had then realized that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t _talk _to him. He simply couldn’t. He had turned and walked away, leaving a dumbfounded Happy who’d then had no choice but to go home. Tony had never returned his calls, and he had never replied to the single text Happy had sent him weeks after Rappahannock.

**Please pick up. Let me talk to you. I’ve talked to Peter and had quite a lot of time to think. I know how difficult it is. For both of you. I don’t blame you.**

He let the young woman do her job, wincing as he took his shirt off. He answered all of her questions in a flat gravelly voice, only meeting her eyes once. She instantly looked away. Despite the detached professionalism with which she examined him, he noticed the slight tremor in her hands. Decades of experience made it clear to him that she had a big fat crush. Before Thanos, he would’ve played with her a little bit, made her feel even more uncomfortable, made her blush and lose her earnest demeanor—just as he had seduced Pepper. Now he just waited for it to be over, looking down as a bit of bile soared up in his bruised throat, burning it. She was at least a decade older than Peter.

It was all his fault. Everything. He should’ve let Peter go the very _second_ he’d first felt it—this sick desire to _own_ him. All the suits, the tracking, the _mentorship_… The more he looked back on the previous years, the sicker he felt. What the hell had he been thinking? That those feelings would just go away? And now he’d gotten Peter’s best friend killed. He couldn’t shake the fresh memory of his recoiling from his touch. He tried very hard not to feel outright scared about what this could mean, but in the end, it didn’t matter; he’d deserved it. He’d been too confident, too selfish. Classic hubris fallout. He should’ve summoned his suit earlier and put a bullet in each of their heads. Except Beck. He should’ve pushed Rhodey away and just got on with his urge to make him bleed to death_._

When he entered the conference room last, nobody said a word. He didn’t sit down like the rest of them; he just stood in the back, crossing his arms over his chest, wishing he had some gum or a toothpick to calm his nerves. Rhodey was the only Avenger standing. He was whispering something to Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross’s holographic projection and two agents present in the flesh that Tony had never seen. Happy was sitting next to Peter. Both of them had their backs to Tony, and it was the main reason why he hadn’t sat down with the rest of them. He couldn’t bear looking directly at Peter now. He was wearing a dark suit jacket, he noticed. Happy had probably given him his own to keep him warm. Bruce and Wanda threw him a sad glance before Rhodey started speaking. Sam wasn’t moving at all. He had his eyes fixed on his own hands resting on the glass table and a worried, almost distressed look on his face.

Gargan and that Doc guy—_Otto Octavius? What kind of name is that?_— were nowhere to be found, just like that sick captor who had tortured Ned Leeds. The tunnel that the mad scientist had drilled with his crazy octopus suit led to an underground parking lot five miles away, and there was another one leading to the exact same spot that had been drilled from outside of another warehouse. They had slipped away from the Avengers, S.H.I.E.L.D _and_ the FBI in probably just a car. With Beck’s technology, they could be anywhere now. Beck himself was in intensive care in a high-security clinic. Tony gritted his teeth a little too hard. Doc’s assistant—a certain Phineas Mason—was apparently ready to cooperate with the authorities, but it was still too soon to know whether he was just bullshitting them or not. The man found dead in the other warehouse was James “Pitch Black” Tamavić, a dangerous Serbian-American gang member who’d been wanted by the FBI for several years for multiple homicide, rape and aggravated assault. Toomes was in a coma. He’d been strangled almost to death. Michelle Jones, the other hostage, was with her family, being taken care of by experts and interrogated as gently as possible. 

‘Now… we need to know your version of what happened’, Rhodey said, looking at Peter, and then at Tony. There was a tense moment of silence, neither of them speaking, before Tony slowly began his own account of what had gone down in New Jersey. He kept it straight-to-the-point, fast and dispassionate.

‘It’s on me’, he said in a dark tone after telling them exactly what had happened to Ned, his voice finally faltering a little as he failed to completely ignore Peter’s presence. ‘I should’ve—’

‘No, it’s not’, Bruce suddenly said, surprising everybody. ‘It’s not all on you, Tony… You said you didn’t anticipate the power of Beck’s illusions… that you didn’t see that chip coming... but you weren’t alone. We didn’t anticipate any of it either. We underestimated them. We _all _made that decision not to intervene. And it wasn’t an easy decision. Was it the right one? I still believe it was. They could’ve killed one of the kids if we had. Your idea to trick them with almost perfect Quantum equations... it was good. Risky, but good. There was nothing more you could’ve done that wouldn’t have directly endangered the kids. We, on the other hand, should’ve acted sooner. We should’ve disabled—’

‘You should’ve done _nothing_’, Ross abruptly cut him off, making Rhodey slowly blink, his jaw set. ‘You shouldn't have done _anything _without the approval and _help _of the United States government! Should I remind you of our existence, Mr. Stark? Do I have to remind you of the Sokovia Accords? As much as it pains me to say it, _your life _is far more valuable than any common citizen’s. You should _not_ have bent to their demands, and under _no_ circumstances...’

‘Excuse me?’, Wanda said over his voice. ‘Did you just say that his life is worth more than—’

‘...should you act on your own without first consulting your allies—Oh come on, Ms. Maximoff, now isn’t the time for naive—’

‘We’re the _Avengers_’, Sam interjected. ‘We’re all about saving innocent lives, not preserving our own. He knew you’d never let him intervene if that meant putting his life on the li—’

‘That’s right, Mr. Wilson. Because here is what I’d like to know: how many more lives can Stark save if he’s _dead?_’ Ross snapped, making Peter cringe.

‘Every life matters, Mr. Secretary. I stand by Tony who, like Bruce, I believe made the right decision under the—’, Rhodey began.

‘No. He should _never_ have—’

‘Since when is the U.S. government part of my fanclub?’ Tony cut Ross off. ‘I’m honestly flattered Mr. Secretary, but I’m with Cap 2.0 on that one. They had_ kids_. Don’t get me wrong, I totally get the fact that you’re crazy about me, but in those particular circumstances, there wasn’t any room for—’

‘Oh _please_, stop spouting naive nonsense at me to cover up for your own reckless decisions, you of all people.’

Okay, now Tony was pissed. 

‘Look at you, getting all flustered.’

Ross spoke louder then, ignoring Tony’s thinly veiled attacks. ‘As much as it would personally pain me to see two highschool kids getting brutally murdered by a bunch of psychopaths, losing Iron Man himself would be far much worse in the end and you _know_ it, especially after what you pulled off this year. Those kids were Peter Parker’s friends, correct?’ Peter closed his eyes at the word _‘were’_. ‘That’s why you all acted so thoughtlessly, not informing us at all, thinking you could handle it without any help from the Department of Defense when it was_ obvious _you needed an expert, objective, _detached_ look on the situation! And look at the results! You almost got killed, lost a hostage, and three of those dangerous criminals are now on the run with potential weapons of mass destruction. Well done.’

Tony looked down, his next comeback dying on his lips.

‘But they got four of them, three of them alive’, one of the agents—the woman—pointed out.

‘Not good enough. This is _exactly_ why you needed to be regulated in the first place. You willingly violated the Accords. Don’t you think for a second there won’t be any legal repercussions coming your way, Stark. You—‘

‘What happened after the battle against Thanos?’ Everyone turned towards Peter speaking for the first time since they all got here. His voice actually made Tony jump a little. ‘Did you judge him for not having consulted you first?’

What a fucking _burn_. Wanda couldn’t repress a smile. Ross opened his mouth to reply before he realized he had nothing good enough to say. Tony’s chest did something it shouldn’t. 

‘Mr. Parker’, the other agent awkwardly said after long seconds of silence. Ross’s projection had turned around, defeated, to Tony’s immense satisfaction. ‘We need you to give us your version of what happened.’

Peter didn’t speak. Tony waited with his heart beating faster and harder, but he didn’t say anything. Finally, it was Happy who spoke instead.

‘He’s still a bit shaken. Give him some time.’

‘No. Now’, Peter interjected. ‘But—not…’ He didn’t finish but they all got the message nonetheless, and Tony tried his best not to feel offended by that. He failed, the pain in his chest soaring right back and forcing him to stifle a gasp.

‘Of course’, Bruce sympathetically said. ‘We’ll leave you with agent Huang and agent Burns.’

They all moved, standing up, and Tony immediately exited the room first, determined to get the hell out of here as fast as possible. 

‘Tony!’

Happy… Tony didn’t stop, triggering his suit and striding towards the nearest exit—a window.

‘Tony, stop.’

He did, reluctantly.

‘Not now’ he said, not looking at his old friend. ‘I’ll call you when I get home’, he lied, his helmet slithering over his head, his hands outstretching downwards, and he took off through the window without another word, cutting off whatever Happy was trying to say. 

Happy silently watched the blinding figure fly away in the already dark sky.

* * *

Thursday, June 9, 1994.

‘Sir… the winners of the science fair are here.’

‘Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time… minute…’

Tony Stark sucked in the last remaining milligram of nicotine from his morning cigarette with obscene pleasure. He was still in bed at 10am, naked, content and completely unconcerned. He very slowly exhaled the smoke with his eyes closed, his youthful face sporting a five o’clock shadow, his wild dark hair—far too long for Jarvis’s taste—sticking out in every direction. The old family butler waited patiently in the door frame with a clearly disapproving face.

‘Oh come on... you know I hate it when you give me the long face... and this isn’t even a joint.’ His voice was deep, sultry and playful, the words slipping out fast and effortlessly, confidence and _power _oozing out of his every pore.

‘I only do that face because I am fully aware of—’

‘Where’s Gloria?’

Jarvis cringed but remained extremely professional. 

‘Did you mean Claudia, sir?’

‘Ah. Mmh.’

‘She left half an hour ago.’

‘What? Why?’

Jarvis pressed his lips tightly together, pondering his answer. ‘I believe she felt a little mistreated.’

Tony abruptly looked at him, startled. ‘_Mistreated? _What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, sir… you do know my personal opinion on how romantic encounters should—’

‘Oh come on! She got to spend an entire night with _me_, _here_; I offered her some _Château Margaux _and—what are you saying, that I was a heartless jerk? I thought we were past such futile moral judgements, Alfie.’

Again, Jarvis visibly cringed at the annoying Batman reference—as he always did whenever his young boss felt like comparing him to the fictional butler— but he went on in his perfectly polite British voice only now slightly tinted with sarcasm. ‘I wouldn’t go as far as employing such a derogatory term, sir.’

‘I was the perfect gentleman given the circumstances. A little blunt, yeah, maybe; but it’s not my fault every chick I bring ends up falling head over heels in love with me.’

Jarvis tried really hard not to roll his eyes at that, he really did, even though Tony’s tone clearly pointed toward self-derision.

‘I was _very_ clear with her from the get go’, the young billionaire went on, getting rid of the sheet covering him and standing up on the bed in full naked glory. ‘I asked her if she wanted to have some fun and we had some fun! Where’s the harm in that?’, he asked, shrugging, his voice and body language ever so slightly betraying his repressed guilt. He then hopped onto the floor, walked up to the coffee table a few feet away, picked up a pack of cigarettes and shook it out a little before taking another one with his mouth.

‘Perhaps it would be preferable to consider human emotions in a more complex and empathetic fashion, sir, especially since the women you—’

‘Oh spare me the moralistic tirade. Is the smartphone kid here?’

‘I believe he is, sir.’

‘Good. I don’t care about any of the others. I’ll have lunch with _him!’ _Tony said with the new cigarette trapped between his lush lips in the corner of his mouth, widening his eyes in a comical way as if to say: _I gotta see that fucking thing with my own eyes!_

‘You do have to pose for Forbes magazine with all of them, sir, and you already are a few minutes late to your appointment with Mrs. Norman.’

‘Eh, she’s used to it. Where’s my fucking lighter?’

For what seemed like the hundredth time, Jarvis cringed, but he didn’t say anything. Christina Norman was the billionaire’s personal stylist and make-up artist. 

‘Shall I bring you breakfast, sir?’

‘Nah, I’m good.’

‘Sir, cigarettes are not—’

‘I said I’m good! _God!_ Will you stop treating me like a freaking child already? Oh, there it is.’

‘Then may I suggest you cease to behave like one, sir?’

_Damn. Touché._ Tony let out a little snort at that, but deep down, it kind of hurt. 

‘I’ll be downstairs in ten minutes. Thank you, Jarvis.’

‘Alright, sir.’

He fucking _hated _photoshoots involving other people than himself. He didn't know why exactly but he did. Of course everybody would blame his flamboyant narcissism for that but only he knew it was deeper than that. He was literally unable to connect emotionally with anybody—or maybe he never really cared to—and so all his smiles during those kinds of events always looked forced, because they were. He took on the habit of wearing sunglasses for that very reason, so that the fakeness of his social and very public persona wouldn’t seem jarringly obvious. Whenever he showed up to an event, he could feel the atmosphere of the place shifting, everybody _changing_, tensing up in anticipation and, sometimes, in pure awe. He loved it. He loved it and hated it.

He had imagined the kid to have the look of a genius; the kind of pair of eyes that instantly radiated wit and depth and _calculation_. Needless to say he was really surprised and disappointed when it turned out that Ned Leeds looked like a starstruck… well…_ idiot_. He just stood there, gaping at him, actually _gaping _like a proper dumbo, and then he started swaying dangerously, the kid to his left catching his arm and prompting him to come back to his senses.

‘You okay there, buddy?’ Tony asked him while extending his hand for him to shake in front of eager photographers who were obviously delighted by this rare encounter between two young geniuses.

‘Yeah… I… sir... I wrote you a letter.’

_Okay, what? _Tony blinked and then was unable to stifle a laugh. He grinned at Leeds with a mocking yet interested look, loudly chewing gum and trying to find words to say to _that._

‘Wow… okay… Congratulations, by the way.’

Leeds was gripping his hand with insistence, staring right into his eyes with something Tony couldn’t really pinpoint, and he was sweaty, really, really sweaty, an actual drop of sweat clearly visible on the side of his face. His eyes were wide and glassy. Was he _scared_ of him? But why? Why the fuck would he be scared? A few seconds passed with them just staring at each other, oblivious to the flashes going wild around them, and Tony decided he was actually interested in reading that letter.

‘Uh… uh…’ the big boy stammered, finally letting go of his hand. ‘I—I actually have it right here, uh, hang on.’ He awkwardly reached for the piece of paper inside his suit jacket. Tony nervously glanced at the puzzled journalists.

‘Don’t worry about it, buddy, you’ll give it to me later. How ‘bout you and I have lunch together today?’ 

Okay now he actually looked like he was about to faint. Thankfully he seemed to put himself together.

‘O—okay. Yeah… yeah… thank you so much, sir.’

‘My pleasure. Your work on high-speed data modems is quite the breakthrough’, he said, eyeing Leeds,_ scanning_ him. The kid gulped, still with the same expression of unabashed awe and… something else. Shit, was he _in love_ with him? As soon as the thought occurred to Tony, no other explanation seemed to make sense. Well, he couldn’t blame him. Lunch was going to prove especially fun.

‘Th—thank you.’

He was a big Asian kid with somewhat dark skin and a limited vocabulary, at least from what Tony had been able to draw from him so far, which wasn’t much to say the least. He was still staring at him with that dumb look on his face as he sat across from him, waiting to be served. It was disconcerting to try and reconcile this speechless fanboy with the genius who, at only seventeen years old, had single-handedly designed the prototype of an electronic device that supplanted everything that every tech company in the world—except his own—was currently struggling to upgrade. He had called it the _smartphone_. It was a phone, sure, but it was essentially a portable computer no bigger and no thicker than a book, with touchscreen commands that allowed seamless roaming and even a tiny integrated camera that could take digital pictures and videos. Obviously, the whole thing was still just a prototype and therefore looked a little rough, but there was no denying that the kid was a fucking genius. He had easily won the biggest prize at the Stark Science Fair a few weeks ago, and was now struggling to keep his drool inside his own mouth. And breathe, Tony suddenly noticed. He was struggling to breathe.

‘Come on, pal, get yourself together, will you?’ he heard himself say after a cringe-worthy minute. Leeds finally closed his mouth and timidly nodded like a child. ‘Good. Now let’s talk real business, shall we?’ He slowly lifted his hands off the table, searching for the right words. ‘Listen... I’m not just _impressed_ with your work, and neither are my shareholders; and neither is every goddamn tech company right now. People are gonna get _interested_; hell, they already are, and I’m sure you’ve already received a bunch of juicy offers, am I right?’ He waited for Leeds to react but the latter only nodded a few seconds later as if he hadn’t really heard anything he’d just said to him. ‘What I’m saying is… I couldn’t care less about the money side of it all but I like you. And that’s why I’ll offer you double of whatever you got offered already’, he announced, looking him in the eye. ‘You intrigue me, Mr. Leeds; _you,_ not just that piece of tech. Catch my drift?’

He still couldn’t speak. Tony marked a pause in his speech, amusing himself with the seductive innuendo and grabbing a shrimp from the plate a waitress had just brought them.

‘That being said... I like self-taught guys like yourself but with all due respect, I think you need a little mentorship. That’s where I jump in. Here’s my additional offer, and please don’t faint, or if you do, try to land on the table, will you? Let’s not hurt that precious brain of yours... So here it goes. Ready? Full-year internship at Stark Industries with a start of ten lab sessions with little old me. Extendable. Plus that nice paycheck to go with it, obviously. What do you say?’

Shit. He was crying now. Great.

‘I’m sorry…’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Sorry…’

‘Don’t worry, buddy, happens to the best of us.’

‘No. I’m sorry, I— I need— I—’

‘Yeah, okay, you’re the emotional type, I get it, just... let it go, let it pour right out and then have a few shrimps because trust me, they’re delicious.’

The waitress awkwardly attracted his attention, silently asking if everything was okay. Tony nodded, gesturing her away. After five good minutes of Leeds still not calming down, Tony finally lost his cool.

‘Listen, man, this is getting frankly too weird for my taste.'

'I'm sorry...'

'What’s your deal? Is… whatever’s... going on right now linked in any way to that letter you were going to give me?’

‘I’m from the future’, the kid sobbed.

Tony’s face dropped. He had _not _been expecting _that.  
_

‘Come again?’

‘I’m from the year 2023. You sent me here. You invented time travel. It was an accident. Me ending up here, not—not the inventing part. And now— now I’m stuck here. I need your help’, he said in-between heavy breaths.

‘What the f—’

‘In a few days—I don’t know when exactly—O.J. Simpsons will kill his wife and a man. Her friend. I don't remember his name. It’ll be everywhere—in the news. On TV. He’ll say he’s innocent. He’s gonna be chased by the police. Everyone will watch it. The chase. On TV. I don’t know when exactly. But in June. I remember. It was in June. I watched a TV show about it.’

Tony didn’t laugh. He didn’t mock the kid. He watched him closely. The way he spoke—with such intensity that it looked like he could be having a heart attack at any moment—coupled with the sheer ridicule of that story he’d just told him to prove that he was indeed from the future—too ridiculous, too random—made the hair at the back of his head stand on end.

‘Okay…’

‘Here’s my letter. Please, keep it, and call me when it happens. I—please don’t tell anyone what I’ve just told you. It could—it could alter things. Maybe I already did. Maybe it won’t happen. If it doesn’t—’, a tear escaped his eye. ‘I wrote a list of all the things… I remember… but some of them are… distant. Please… please read it.’

‘I invented time travel’, Tony said, his voice flat but serious.

‘Yes. Yes. You did. And you saved everyone._ Everyone.’_

Tony was slightly frowning, scanning the features of that genius, or crazy person, or both, or—and it all clicked in his head, making perfect sense— that perfectly ordinary person who had been able to come up with the genius tech simply because he was from the future—and he simply asked: ‘How?’

‘I—I don’t know exactly’, Leeds said, still sobbing. ‘I don’t know. I’m not a genius. I’m just a kid from Queens like... like...' he stopped, making Tony frown even more, his heart rate spiking up at the confirmation of his hypothesis. 'I got kidnapped', he went on. 'You—you tried to save me but—but I got—I got—and now I'm here. I've been here for months. I studied electrical and mechanical engineering in high school. I like coding and reading about technology. I never invented anything. Please… please believe me…’, he begged, ‘I know—I know it sounds crazy…’

‘I believe you’, Tony interrupted him, surprising even himself.

Leeds abruptly stopped crying, almost comically so. ‘Really? Oh my god, really?’

‘Yeah, I think so…’, Tony slowly replied. ‘O.J. Simpsons, a murderer? No-one would've come up with that… especially to convince someone they're from the future... sounds insane... so that tells me you’re the real deal… but in _that _case…’ he paused, looking like he was just now realizing how insane what he had just said truly was, ‘In that case…’, he repeated, tilting his head in a quirky way, eyes widening, ‘I should be totally freaking out right now... But I’m _not.’_ he slowly said, and it sounded like a question to himself. ‘I kinda like it to be honest... Either you’re telling the truth, which would make for a way more interesting afternoon than I’d originally planned... or you’re insanely clever_ and_ batshit crazy at the same time… Either way… you definitely got my attention, kid.’

* * *

The flight home was turbulent, the night cold and windy, although it wasn't snowing anymore. Tony didn’t call Happy when he arrived, of course he didn’t, but the old hard nut was stubborn. 

‘Tony?’

‘You gotta be kidding me’, Tony said in a low voice as he heard Happy’s voice suddenly filling his bathroom. He had just taken a well-deserved bath and was reaching out for his bathrobe hung next to Morgan's cheetah towel. ‘Should I run down the list of all the reasons why this is wildly inappropriate?’

‘Tell that to Pepper; she’s the one who granted me authorization.’ 

‘Of course she is…’ Tony muttered, rubbing his left eye with his good hand.

He was in the bathroom where he had taken refuge from his suicidal self all those months ago—the first-floor bathroom in his Georgia home. The fact that they were apparently destined to share important conversations in here of all places was low-key hilarious, Tony couldn’t lie.

‘Tony, listen, I— we need to talk, and I mean… not in a— not as in— God, why is it so hard? I just— I miss you, okay? I really do. And this whole thing with—with Peter… I really took some time to think about it and … as your friend, I think I—’

‘When did you get all sentimental?’ Tony cut him off. His words gave Happy a feeling of déjà vu. He stopped talking for a moment, before answering: ‘Probably when you first tried to kill yourself.’

‘I didn’t_ try_. I_ almost_ tried.’

Happy sighed.

‘What I’m trying to say is… I understand. And… even though I don’t really think it’s okay... I kinda think that it is, in a way… Does that make sense?’

‘No.’

‘Well, that’s how I feel now anyway...’

‘Doesn’t change anything. It’s still fucked up.’

Happy sighed again. ‘You said it, not me. Look… I need to know what’s going on right now between the two of you… and I got to fill you in on what the team’s saying about it. I know you know Rhodey knows now... Banner… he sought out his advice when he—when he realized I couldn’t really be _objective_ with the whole thing… Rhodey’s reaction wasn’t what he’d anticipated at all, though. He wasn’t _okay _with it, but he had a kind of… non-reaction in a way? I think it helped Banner calm down but... I think— I think Rhodey’s actually quite upset about it.’

‘As should anybody...’ Tony said darkly, now wrapped in the red bathrobe and moving to sit down in the same straw armchair as during that fateful night.

‘He’s unsure of where to stand…’, Happy went on. ‘And now Sam… Tony, he saw you… you and Peter… It _shocked_ him. After the debriefing, he pulled Peter aside and asked him if you…’ Happy paused, searching for the softest way to put it.

‘If I what…’

‘If you ever took advantage of him. Peter made it pretty clear that it wasn’t like that but… can you tell me what’s going on exactly? Because Sam told me he saw Peter kind of push you away.’

Tony didn’t answer. He was tired, tired of it all. Happy gave him time, but as the seconds ticked by, it became pretty clear that he wouldn’t say anything about that.

‘Have you… been seeing each other? Since Rappahannock, I mean?’

Happy waited again, and then Tony finally gave him something: a faint ‘no’. Neither of them spoke for a while.

‘Listen, Tony... they’re not stupid. They know how… complicated the situation is. Banner… I don’t know how much you know exactly but I can tell you he didn’t take the news well _at all,_ but now… he’s like me.... thinking.’

‘There’s no good way to take this… they’re right to be disgusted’, Tony muttered.

‘I wouldn’t use that word... Rhodey… he doesn’t like it, nor does Sam… I mean... obviously, they think it’s pretty fucked up, but they’re not willing to confront you or shut you down. They... they understand… at least to a certain extent... You're both pretty extraordinary people in an extraordinary position and—’

‘Yeah, fantastic news, are you done?’

‘Tony… just remember… we’re still your friends...'

'Stop, you're gonna make me cry.'

'I'm _serious!_ Talk to Rhodey. Talk to Bruce. For Christ’s sake Tony, pick up your phone once in a while!’

‘And say what… how much I wanna bang our barely legal teammate?’

‘We all have our issues…’

Tony laughed at that. A small, bitter laugh.

‘Yeah… Banner’s is mint chocolate chip ice-cream.’ 

‘And a past of uncontrollable violence.’

‘Touché.’

They didn’t speak for a long moment.

‘Can I ask you a question?’, Happy eventually asked as Tony stood up and walked over to the sink. He needed a shave. He wouldn't be able to get any sleep tonight anyway so might as well do it now. He sighed heavily as he leaned on the white marble, avoiding his own reflection.

‘Sure, buddy, I will bare my soul to you’, he replied with obvious sarcasm.

‘Are you really in love with him?’

‘Nah, I was just goofing around this whole time.’

‘Tony… I think this is an important question. I need to know.’

‘You should get in touch with Lopez, team up or something.’

Happy ignored the reference to the famous king of celebrity gossip and seemed to think, not talking for a moment. 

‘He’s not okay. Peter, I mean.’

Tony looked up and was met with his own sad, guilty face. Happy didn’t go on.

‘Are you just gonna end the call like that?’

‘He’s… acting strange.’

‘Strange how...’ Tony asked with dread.

‘He got all restless after the debriefing. He asked to stay here in the compound with his aunt and requested access to your lab...’ Tony straightened up. ‘Needless to say, I refused. I told him to get some rest and call you tomorrow.’

‘And you’re telling me this _now?’_

‘Don’t worry, he’s resting right now… with his aunt... but I’m thinking he truly believes there’s a way to bring his friend back.’

Tony sighed. _Of course he does._

‘Yeah…’

‘Is there?’

‘No’, Tony simply said.

‘Shit.’

‘I told him already…’

‘Kid’s stubborn.’

Tony almost smiled. He stared at himself again. There were dark bags under his eyes, his bottom lip had a nasty cut, his left cheek was all bruised up, but he definitely looked like he was in his forties now. The once heavily scarred skin on the right side of his face and neck now looked completely normal, and even almost too smooth, too perfect. Neither Happy nor any of the others had apparently noticed. Yet. Or they simply hadn't said anything. He closed his eyes and sighed through his nose.

‘Grant him full access to the lab. I'll call you back tomorrow. End call.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few mistakes now fixed! Love you all 3000. ❤️


	28. Bending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story keeps getting longer and longer, my plans for it continuously shifting as the characters themselves often seem to be leading the way while I feel like a mere passenger instead of their captain... I kind of love it. I hope you will too. ♥

It was 2:35am when May finally fell asleep.

He knew what he had to do then. It was crazy, but he couldn’t care less at this point.

He focused on her breathing, waiting for it to grow even slower and steadier, watching her chest gently moving up and down as she lay in the other bed a few feet from his own. As soon as the rhythm satisfied him, he very carefully slid out of the covers. He couldn’t risk making her freak out again, and the last thing he wanted was to argue with a scared, pissed off and sleep-deprived May. There was no way she would let him do anything but sleep right now. Unfortunately, the experimental sleeping pill Happy had given him a few hours earlier had had no effect on his body whatsoever. Okay, he did feel a little funny, but was it due to the pill or mere exhaustion? Either way, he felt restless. Incidentally, whenever May was in such a state herself and finally managed to fall asleep, she always turned into a very light sleeper, and sure enough, just as his bare toes came into contact with the floor, her breathing faltered and she stirred. It was like her very own superpower; a sort of far less dramatic version of his Peter tingle. She released a deep sigh and turned around. He didn’t dare move an inch. He waited several minutes for her sleepy breaths to grow further apart again, staring at the large carbon tiles that made up the entire floor of the building—the largest one in the brand new Avengers Compound— or at least what he had seen of it so far.

The tiles were swaying.

The darkness was too perfect a backdrop for flashbacks to pop to the surface. They fostered on it, and try as he might, they wouldn’t go away, gnawing at his exhausted brain, haunting sounds and images he couldn’t entirely escape. One in particular was like a shadow itself, threatening to engulf him at any moment, and he struggled to keep it buried under a myriad of questions and ideas that kept buzzing around his vision like glow worms, the swimming blend of it all keeping him almost dementedly alert.

MJ was screaming.

He shook his head in what looked like a violent shudder.

Fortunately, he had a goal; a crystal-clear purpose that kept him grounded, kept him sane. It was like a big torch showing him the way and all he had to do now was follow it. It was one big dominant thought—a simple one.

_Ned. _

Ned. He had to save Ned. Nothing else mattered now. What had happened a few hours before to the fake MJ, to the real one, to himself and with Tony, all of that was just background noise next to it, like irritating static occasionally spiking up into painful ultrasounds but still manageable. He had to ignore them. He had to man up and keep his mind clear. Who cared if he was filled with multiple trauma, shame, misery and fucked-up desire for his father figure? Those were minor problems now, because he had to _get Ned back. _And he couldn’t get him back without the time travel data—the equations, the blueprints, everything. He _needed to understand_.

_Now._

May was fast asleep._ Is she really?_ He hesitated for another second, and then he was off in a leap, sneaking out of the vast bedroom as swiftly and quietly as a cat.

This was stupid. There was little chance he could elude Friday. Actually scrap that, there was no chance at all. So why was he trying anyway? Why? What was the point? What the hell was he doing? He stopped for a second, suddenly out of breath. He had always liked it a lot, his weird ability to stay stuck to ceilings, to watch the world upside down and kind of meditate like that. Now he felt dizzy. Maybe it was because he didn’t have his suit on; he couldn't muffle all the input. That and the "experimental pill"... Yeah, probably. He closed his eyes and tried to keep himself together. _Come on, Peter, think..._ Clearly, they hadn’t left him any choice. It was obvious to him that they were still treating him like a child even after everything he’d done. They still didn’t trust him with any of their top secret stuff, so what choice did he have? Since they had refused to give him access to the data—and would no doubt find yet another excuse the next day not to let him have a look at it—, he would get it himself, even if it meant breaking a few things along the way. Fuck Happy. Fuck the government. Fuck sleep and fuck Tony!

_Don’t kid yourself…_, a little voice in his head retorted._ There’s another reason why you’re doing this… _

_Is there?_

Did he secretly enjoy this in a twisted way? Because what if he actually _did_ it? What if he managed to fool Friday and successfully hacked into Tony’s lab? What if— No. No, this was wrong and selfish and pointless anyway... And yet simply imagining the look on Tony’s face if he pulled this off made him move again, and suddenly, he was stealthier than ever. He snaked along upper walls and ceilings of empty corridors skillfully avoiding surveillance cameras and sensors. It was thrilling—the challenge to outsmart him.

_Oh, but it’s still not the only reason and you know it..._

He wasn’t just trying to impress Tony. And anyway, his A.I. had probably detected his absence from room A108 as soon as he had left it. No, that wasn’t it. That wasn’t the only reason why he didn’t simply wait until morning. He was running a very high risk of getting caught, he was most likely going to _fail, _but the prospect of it wasn’t making him nervous or scared or even uncomfortable in the least. No, quite the contrary in fact… It _excited_ him. He _wanted_ to fail, because getting caught by Friday would inevitably lead to her boss being alerted to the security breach.

_Bingo._

Yes, that was the real reason why he was doing this right now. That alone could account for his lunatic behavior. He wanted to make Tony—

_No. Ned. Ned needs me. I need the data. **Now!**_

He reached the window he had spotted the previous evening after his short conversation with Happy. It was the only window he had found that wasn’t visibly facing any electronic device. It was located in another smaller corridor next to a utility closet. He slid it open from the ceiling, suddenly releasing freezing cold air into the warm building. He took a deep breath through his nose, struggling for what seemed like the thousandth time in the last twelve hours not to burst into tears, and then sidled outside like a proper spider. He crawled his way up to the east side of the facility where he suspected Tony’s lab or workshop was.

_Tony, Tony, Tony…_

_No, **Ned! **Shut up!_

The memory of their last kiss cropped up in his mind. He swallowed it like bile, tears of shame escaping his eyes, and his heart felt heavier as he finally peeked through what instantly looked like the right window.

It was small, or at least much smaller than the huge workshop of the former facility. It looked like an office really, or maybe like the private lab of a college professor. The opposite wall was covered in books. The only visible tech consisted of several taken apart prosthetic arms. Peter instantly recognized the vibranium one and had to push another memory down, his shoulder actually tingling with the ghost touch of the metal hand grabbing it during their lovemaking in Rappahannock. He focused on the other prototypes instead. They were all resting on a large and messy worktable, with an empty mug right next to the most realistic one. It was an Iron Man mug. _Of course it is_, he thought, sadly smirking for a second. He focused on the fake arm that looked so real except for its synthetic skin being cut on the side to reveal metal ligaments and wires instead of blood and bones. It was kind of creepy to see what seemed like a discarded limb next to an empty mug like that, as if he were having a peek into the secret lair of a serial killer whose daily routine consisted in matter-of-factly chopping off the bodies of his victims while carelessly sipping coffee, and he briefly imagined Tony in that role, whistling as he worked on them.

_Shit, you really do need some sleep._

But Ned couldn’t wait._ He_ couldn’t wait. His visceral need for answers couldn’t wait. It prompted him forward. He would bring Ned back whatever it took, even if it meant trying for the rest of his days and fuck everyone who thought this was a lost cause. He crawled his way up to the rooftop above the lab and began scanning it for a vent.

He had been weak, too weak. He still was. He should’ve kept his cool during the illusions. He should’ve listened to his tingle, like in London. Instead, he had completely lost control, and most of all with that awfully embarrassing kiss. Why had he done that? Tony had clearly been taken aback by it and not in a good way at all. And to make things worse, he had cried like a baby in his arms, he had _felt _like a baby, proving Bruce’s point all along. But he wasn’t. He was _not_ a child.

There was no vent large enough to fit his body.

_Fuck everyone._

When he had spotted Sam staring at them, a surge of deep anger had turned him colder than the snow. It was first and foremost anger at himself, at his weakness, at his failure, but as he had held the gaze of his shocked teammate, anger at _society_, at reality itself and at _Tony_—Tony who couldn’t escape it, who _wouldn’t_ escape it— that same anger he had felt against Bruce in Rappahannock had made him push Tony away. But that was what he wanted anyway, wasn’t it? For them not to even stay friends since they couldn’t be together even if _they fucking loved each other? _

No calls, no texts, not a single message whatsoever.

No contact at all.

He was fed up. Fed up with everything. He crawled back down along the glass wall and kicked one of the panes a few times before it broke, not giving a single fuck about the noise. In a second, he was inside Tony’s lab.

_That’s right, **nothing.** You want nothing? I’ll give you nothing. We’ll see. We’ll see if you can hold this up. I made you **moan **when I kissed you. We’ll see!_

_Stop. You’re acting like a selfish brat. Think about his daughter._

‘Welcome Peter’, F.R.I.D.A.Y immediately said as he landed on his bare feet into a pool of shards. ‘May I ask you why you didn’t use the front door?’

It took him a few seconds to answer.

‘You know why…’

‘Well, I know you always feel the need to show off in front of my boss, but this seems a little over the top, don’t you think?’

He let out a few little breaths of awkward laughter while absent-mindedly stepping closer to the worktable. There was a small kitchen corner with an Iron Man poster above the sink.

_Typical._

‘I don’t—I—I’m not actually authorized to go in here, surely you already knew that?’

‘Well, as a matter of fact, you are. Happy granted you full authorization to every lab and classified file in the facility. May I suggest you try the front door first next time?’

‘Sorry... Tell your boss I didn’t know that. I— I just need to work on…’ Words failed him, exhaustion taking over his strength for an instant, and he nearly fell over. He sat down instead, the Iron Man on the mug taunting him with his cold gaze. It was only half-empty, he noticed. He could smell the cold coffee left inside it. He could smell Tony too. Everywhere.

‘Wait…’, he started as he finally registered the A.I.'s words. ‘What? _When? _Happy made it perfectly clear a few hours ago that—’

‘Well…’, Tony’s voice interrupted him, making him jump, ‘I figured you wouldn’t rest until you had a proper look at my groundbreaking life’s work, and as usual, I wasn’t wrong.’

That unmistakable, sarcastic, falsely indifferent voice that he _adored_... It made him shudder, and it made him _angry_. He instantly knew Tony wasn’t really here. He was calling him from his home in Georgia. Friday must have alerted him right away, just as he had suspected. He closed his eyes, willing to keep his heartbeat in check, but instead of calming himself down, that paradoxical anger kept rising in him, heating his chest even more.

‘Then show it to me’, he said with a tense jaw. When Tony didn’t reply, Peter took a deep breath and went on in a cold voice. ‘I need all your notes on Quantum time travel. I need the equations, the test results, the blueprints, everything. I need the footage from the warehouse too. I know you—’

‘What you need is _sleep_.’

‘No. I won’t. I can’t and I won’t’, he firmly retorted.

There was a pause, quite a long one, and for a second Peter thought the call had been disconnected, but then Tony just said: ‘Okay.’

In an instant, Peter’s face was blue, illuminated by a holographic screen so large it effectively hid the entire opposite wall. What seemed like thousands of files were simultaneously opened, and his first impression of it was that it looked like some sort of contemporary work of art—a collage of humanity’s most advanced and precious knowledge. He blinked several times. He was so tired at this point that his eyes were almost unable to keep up with the sudden overstimulation. It actually hurt; but he was Spider-Man so who cared...

‘That’s it, have fun’, Tony said. _Asshole._ ‘I’ll be back tomorrow after lunch. Try to keep your list of questions to a reasonable length.’ He almost said something else but stopped himself, words getting stuck in his throat before he added in a rush: ‘Night, Parker. Don’t drool on my table. End call.’

_Parker? _

** _Parker?_ **

_Have **fun**?_

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and his nostrils flared. _Fuck you! _he internally spat.

How dazzling to be lucky enough to entertain such a relationship with the absolute genius who had come up with all that revolutionary work currently assaulting his retinas… How thrilling to remember what they had done together, what they still very much wanted to do… He was like a super Einstein, a super hot Einstein, humanity’s greatest genius of all time and he was _his_.

And he wasn’t.

His gaze traveled down to the red and gold mug again, and he only then realized that it actually read **IRON HEART** instead of Iron Man. He grabbed it a little too forcefully and stomped his way to the coffee machine behind him, nearly breaking it as he pressed its unique button much too hard. He emptied the mug in a swift motion, making the cold coffee splash into the sink next to the machine. He tried to avoid the heartless stare of the poster Iron Man while carelessly rinsing it. He didn’t fully wash it. He simply placed it under the thin hot stream already running down and then watched the coffee slowly filling it—the bitter black liquid he used to find disgusting before falling in love with the man who so often smelled like it…

Tony was probably watching him right now.

_I hate coffee. I still fucking hate it! _

He heard Bruce before the door opened.

_Predictable._

‘Hey... everything okay?’ the giant asked in his deep, weary voice.

Peter sighed heavily._ Fuck you. _‘Yeah. Sorry about the window. Too much strength…’ Peter lamely apologized, not sounding even remotely honest or actually sorry about it at all.

‘Oh… yeah… I can relate to that…’ Awkward silence followed. ‘Friday kind of… explained what happened to us’, Bruce went on. ‘You gave a bit of a fright to the security department. Are you sure you’re okay?’ 

‘Yeah. I’m sorry’, Peter repeated, ‘I thought I wasn’t allowed in here but it turned out I was. Anyway, I need to work now.’ He couldn’t face him. He just kept staring at the coffee machine. The Iron Man mug was almost filled to the brim now.

‘You sure you’re alright? Didn’t Happy give you some sleeping pills? How many did you take? And you know you’re not supposed to mix them with coffee, right?’

‘One. I took one pill and it didn’t have any effect on me. Anyway, I need to work now. That’s the only thing that can help me right now’, he honestly said this time. ‘Don’t worry for me, just… leave me alone. Please.’

_Alone in Tony’s lab, drinking from Tony’s Iron Man mug,_ his brain mocked him, but he didn’t give a shit about what this may look like.

‘Okay… If...if you ever—’

‘Yeah, I’ll call you. Thanks.’

Bruce didn’t push him any further. To Peter’s immense relief, he actually left. He listened to his heavy steps gradually growing faint after the door closed behind him, and then just stood there for a while. The black liquid in the mug and the light reflected on its surface were weirdly hypnotic.

He ended up drinking four full mugs of coffee while studying his ass off for more than three hours. A little before six, he literally collapsed face first against the worktable, falling into a deep dreamless sleep in what looked like a very uncomfortable position. His right index was still hooked inside the handle of the Iron Man mug, caffeine having only had a tiny effect on his body.

He did drool on Tony’s table. A lot.

* * *

‘Daddy… daddy… it’s time to wake up…’ Morgan chanted in her soft little voice. Tony opened an eye before closing it again, smiling as he did so. She was literally an inch from his face.

‘Mmmh…’, he weakly complained, but she had seen him smile, instantly understanding the act.

‘Come on, daddy…’, she insisted, already giggling a little.

‘Mmmh!’ he complained a little louder.

‘Mommy made waffles…’ she then whispered in his ear, already smiling in glee as she knew what would happen next.

He theatrically popped his eyes open. ‘Waffles?’ he exclaimed like a dog perking up to the distinct rustle of the dog food packaging, before scrambling to sit up on the couch. ‘Who said waffles?’

Morgan laughed, the sound high and pure and sunny—his favorite sound in the entire universe.

When he had gotten home the previous night, the first thing he had done was to climb up the stairs four steps at a time to reach his little girl’s bedroom as fast as possible. He had felt a vital need to see her, to touch her, to simply check that she was still alive, that everything was alright. Beck’s horrific illusion was too fresh still, too vivid, like a bloody gash inside his brain that he knew would need quite a lot of time to heal. He spent the entire morning playing with her, occasionally surprising her with long cuddles that left him teary-eyed.

He had slept downstairs on the couch for three hours—from five to eight. Like Peter, sleep had not seemed like a viable option, and so he had spent the entire night doing the exact same thing—thinking—although for him it had meant trying to prove himself wrong. He had partially succeeded, coming up with several precise ideas, but the whole thing still seemed pretty hopeless. Not being in the know as to what those psychos had done to Peter had been a predominant cause of his insomnia too. It was close to psychological torture, to be honest; not that he wasn’t used to it. The longer he thought about the possibilities, the more certain he felt that it had something to do with him. Beck had fucked with Peter’s mind using what he knew. It had to be it. It explained Peter’s rejection and cold demeanor. Perhaps his violent kiss as well... Or maybe it was just that he despised him now after their “break-up”.

_Shit…_

He didn’t know how he had managed to resist the urge to check his lab’s security camera feed. It had felt a little like trying to resist a glass of Laphroaig right in front of his face.

Pepper gave him a strange look when she first saw him that morning as if she had not already seen the injuries covering his face the previous night, and yet she most definitely had. She opened her mouth to say something but then Morgan tackled him with a giant build-a-bear so he didn’t really ponder on it. Morgan hadn’t asked about the bruises and cuts at all. Tony figured Pepper had given her a little briefing to prepare her, and Pepper being Pepper, that briefing had worked a charm. She wordlessly asked him to come and have a word with her but he ignored her. Explaining to his kid how to efficiently optimize the completion time of a 200-piece puzzle was infinitely more enjoyable than having to face his worried ex-wife, and so he escaped. Almost. Nobody escaped Pepper Stark that easily. She appeared in the door frame of Morgan’s bedroom ten minutes later with a worried face and her arms crossed.

‘Tony…’

‘So only then do you begin working on your segmented piles.’

‘Tony…’

‘Start with pieces with easily distinguishable or high-contrast pictures, like this one here, see?’

‘Nice job ignoring me in front of our kid.’

‘Faces, body parts, doors, windows—I’m sorry but we’re in the middle of something here, and that something happens to be _a puzzle_, and what have we said about puzzle time?’ Tony asked, raising his eyebrows.

‘Never interrupt puzzle time!’ Morgan exclaimed. Pepper frowned with mock gravitas at her daughter taking sides with her father, an expression his little girl could adorably mimick to a T. ‘Sorry, mommy’, Morgan muttered apologetically with a little smile.

‘Look, can’t this wait? I’ll talk to you as soon as we’re done, I promise’, he told her in as honest a tone as he could muster. Pepper gave him another look, but then she just sighed and walked away.

It only occurred to him half an hour later that he wasn’t in any sort of pain anymore, and then it dawned on him. Morgan hadn’t asked how he’d gotten the injuries on his face because they were gone. He stopped moving as Morgan continued to put the now almost-completed puzzle together, frozen in mild shock—both at what this meant and at the fact that he was only realizing it now. He didn’t stand up though. He didn’t check right away. He should have gone straight to the bathroom or to their bedroom mirror for confirmation but he didn’t. He just sat there.

‘Daddy?’

‘Yeah’, he instantly replied, reconnecting to reality in a beat.

It was only when Pepper asked them to come down for lunch that he finally took a look at his face, and sure enough, there were no bruises left. No scars. Nothing. He lost his balance for a second, and of course, his mind immediately went to Peter.

‘Daddy? Are you okay?’

‘Always', he automatically answered.

Morgan took his hand and dragged him downstairs, not leaving him time to calmly process the mind-boggling evidence. His mind was reeling.

_Okay. Okay. I have super healing powers. Good. Good. Good? Is that good? _

_Of course it is! Why wouldn’t it be? It’s amazing! _

_Shit, it’s real. Those aliens weren’t messing around. This is fucking real. I’m like Peter now._

_Like Peter._

_Shit._

‘So… you’ve finally noticed…’ she said when lunch was over and Morgan was glued to another episode of Paw Patrol. She caught him right before he left for the Compound. _Damn it._

‘Yeah.’

‘They’re gone… in one night… just like that...’ she continued, eyeing him closely.

‘Yep.’

‘Talk to Banner about it. I—I had him on the phone last night… Rhodey too…’

_What?_

‘Great...’

‘Or talk to that new doctor. I heard she’s brilliant.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh and… make sure to be home for Christmas, will you?’

‘Of course! How could I miss Christmas with Morgan, why are you telling me this?’ he replied, frankly a little offended. She gave him another one of her looks. ‘I’ll do my best’, he then added. ‘You know I will.’

She gave him a sad smile. ‘I know.’

He triggered his suit and moved into the right position for a safe take-off.

‘Tony?’

He looked down at her, his face now engulfed in the Iron Man helmet. ‘Yeah?’

Pepper seemed to search for the right words.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Always.’

He could not have given her a more dishonest none-answer and she knew it. He felt a little bad about it, but Pepper also knew what that meant. She understood he couldn’t talk right now. He felt a higher surge of adrenaline than usual when he soared into the cold blue sky. He felt faster, bigger, stronger… more powerful than ever.

He resisted his overwhelming desire to have a look at Peter for another minute. The security feed showed the young man sitting back in his lab chair apparently fast asleep, his mouth slightly open, and his face was almost caught in the bright beam of sunlight now flooding the lab. It was brushing his left ear and stretched further along his legs towards the worktable. His hair was quite long now, longer than Tony had ever seen on him. He looked like a Caravaggio painting, a Renaissance beauty captured between light and shadows.

_He looks_ _lovely_, Tony thought, and the word_ lovely _wasn’t part of his usual vocabulary at all.

_You can have him._

_You can have him again._

_Shit. Don’t._

The truth was, he hadn’t solely been kept awake by Ned’s predicament, what had happened to Peter and his desire to help him. What Happy had told him the day before had had an impact on him that he wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge yet. That semblance of preliminary acceptance from his peers... the _possibilities_… Did it mean that—

_No. Don’t think about that. Remember Morgan! And remember yesterday..._

Peter’s small move of rejection had shaken him more than he dared to admit to himself. For the first time since the start of their “relationship”, he felt genuinely scared that it could end, which, well, was kind of ironic given the fact that he was the one who had ended it in the first place. 

_Months ago_...

But the love they shared—love beyond any physical relationship—, that love had not ended. It would never end. It couldn’t.

_God, stop thinking like a freaking teenager! Oh, the irony... Come on, let’s not over-dramatize this. You know the effect you have on him. You can have him. Anywhere, any time._

He needed to make sure Peter still wanted him, he needed to check, and now that he had permission from his— _What the fuck are you talking about, they didn’t give you **permission**! How the fuck did it all translate to your sick brain as them giving you **permission** to do anything to him? Get a fucking grip! Shit,_ he needed to stop thinking about this. _That’s right, stop. Just stop. No. No, don’t get aroused! What, now? Now? Really?_

_Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter…_

* * *

Peter woke up when his heightened senses picked up some noise growing clearer and clearer by the second. Bruce, again. As he sat up, he became aware of two things: he was cold, and somebody had placed a fleece blanket on his shoulders during his sleep. Broken window. Right... He could hear a light wind outside in the sunny winter afternoon, and even faint voices. He slowly got up, tightening the blanket around him, just as the older man knocked on the door and opened it ajar, gently asking: ‘Can I come in?’

‘Yeah.’

He felt much better although still fucking tired. The anger was gone, and he even smiled a little when he saw the green giant appearing with a breakfast tray that looked tiny in his huge hand. He delicately closed the door behind him and gave Peter a shy little smile that the teenager returned. He had brought some pastries, a dozen pancakes and a big bottle of orange juice. Peter only then realized that he was absolutely starving.

‘Thought you’d like some of these. You must be starving by now.’

‘Thank you’, he said in a gruff voice before clearing his throat.

Bruce smiled again but soon averted his eyes, putting the tray on the worktable under the still fully displayed mosaic of files; they were now almost faded in the bright sunlight pouring in through the glass wall. However, as soon as Peter noticed that fact, the luminosity automatically went up. _Thought commands?_, he faintly wondered.

Bruce watched the holographic display in silence while Peter ate ravenously. Peter could tell he wasn’t really reading anything, though. He was just waiting for him to finish eating so he could talk to him, ask him _questions_. It was awkward and yeah, as minutes ticked by, the anger came back, subdued at first, like a spider waiting for its next prey, its web all done, tight and ready to catch.

‘So… need any help figuring all this out?’

_Yes. _‘No.’

‘Really? I definitely needed some help and I have three PhDs.’

‘I don’t want any help.’_ Not from you._

Bruce looked down and waited a moment before replying: ‘Not from me, you mean…’ _Shit._ Could he read minds too? Peter didn’t reply and so he insisted. ‘Right?’

What could he say? There was nothing to say. Of course he needed help from the fucking genius who’d invented all of this in the first place! What point was there to say it out loud? His stubborn silence was enough of an answer for Bruce.

‘I could help you with Quantum thermodynamics’, he went on. ‘It’s quite tricky but once you’ve—’

‘I read a book about it, I don’t need any help.’

‘You read a book about Quantum thermodynamics?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay… well… time well spent, kid, I’m impressed.’

‘What time is it?’ Peter almost cut him off.

‘1:23pm’, Friday automatically answered.

He finally risked a glance towards the giant and was met with a face that had pity written all over it. It made him clench his right fist in his lap.

‘You slept in here for almost seven hours, I believe.’

Peter didn’t say anything to that. He just stared into space for a while.

‘Look kid, you need some proper rest. Why don’t you—’

‘No, I need to be alone. I need to study. I’m sorry, I know you’re really trying to help but I need to be alone... so I can focus.’

‘You need Tony.’ It was blunt and bold of him to say that, and Peter was slightly taken aback, not to mention the way he said those words made it sound like an unpleasant but ultimately unavoidable last resort. He was silently seething again. Bruce went on. ‘He’s just arrived here, by the way… that’s why I came... to wake you up and tell you.’ Peter’s head shot up at that. ‘Look, he’s the only person in the world able to truly break down his own work and make it accessible to—’

‘I just need time, that’s all I need’, Peter repeated a little too forcefully. Bruce then made a face that read, ‘_Dude… this is very advanced stuff…’_, and so Peter added: ‘Look, he already did all the work and I’m not any kid, okay? All I need is time. Time to study it. And then… when I have questions, I’ll just… I’ll reach out.’

‘If you say so’, Bruce just said.

‘Friday can help me.’

‘Okay.’

‘Can you— can you tell him I need to be alone for now? I know it’s his lab but… I need some time... or he can transfer the data to my room or something...’

‘I guess…’

The giant was eyeing him with a mix of sadness and curiosity now. He wasn’t moving, just staring. After several long seconds of silence, Peter started to lose his patience.

‘So… could you…’_ get the fuck out and finally leave me alone?_

Still nothing.

‘You can leave now’, he added, now clearly ordering him to go, but Bruce didn’t move.

‘Listen…’

‘No.’

‘Peter…’

‘I don’t wanna listen, just please. Please leave.’

‘Whatever you—’

‘Look, I already know what you’re gonna say and I have _no_ intention of hearing any of it so please—’

‘You don’t even know what I’m...’

‘I don’t wanna hear it!’

‘... gonna say! I just want you to know that Rhodey, Wanda and I had a talk after Sam—’

_‘Leave me alone!_’ He was shouting now. ‘This is about Ned, okay? I need to find my friend!’ No, _no,_ he was _not_ crying. ‘Just please… please leave me alone so I can figure it out… I don’t wanna talk about it. Not now. I can’t do this right now, I can't, so please,_ please_ respect that and just...go. Please go.’

Bruce opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He then marked a final pause before slowly standing up. He looked old.

‘A couple of repairmen will come to fix the window in five minutes or so. If you need me, just call me. I can help. I want to help. Any time’, he said, making Peter feel like a proper asshole. And then he was gone.

The first thought Peter had when he found himself alone again was whether the others had access to the security cameras or not. Would they be able to see them? Tony and him? Tony and him, here alone, in his lab…

The flashback took him by surprise. He lost his balance, not having even realized that he had gotten up. He slumped back into the leather armchair, his head swimming with the painful memories. Maybe Tony was about to burst into the lab, right now during his panic attack. Was this a panic attack? No, he could breathe. With difficulty, but he could. PTSD? Panic attack, PTSD... whatever. He prayed for time to recover, for Tony not to show up before he regained his calm, afraid of what his traumatized self was capable of. He wouldn’t let anybody touch him right now. Especially not Tony.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all.

He needed to go to the bathroom. He was a _mess. _And he wasn’t ready. God, he wasn’t ready to see him again. He left the lab in a hurry in search of the nearest bathroom and soon regretted having drunk so much coffee. He splashed some cold water on his face afterwards. It helped a lot. When he approached the lab door again, nerves made his heart jump in his throat. What if Tony was there now? He wasn't. The two repairmen were almost done already, a robot there to do most of the work for them. Peter awkwardly greeted them and was relieved when they left only ten minutes later. He was sitting down in Tony’s chair again and started biting his nails and jumping his right foot, not being able to focus on the particular cluster of equations he couldn’t understand no matter how many times Friday attempted to explain them to him.

And then Tony was here. Just like that. Peter didn’t even see him come in.

‘This statement is _false_’, he almost shouted like a theater actor starting a monologue with a boom. Peter jumped and quickly stood up. ‘If _a,b_∈ℤ, then _a_²−4_b_≠2. Now prove me wrong. Shoot', Tony threw at him.

He didn’t look at Peter at all, and Peter could hardly look at him either, but he did for one second, and that was enough, first, to make his heart soar even higher, and second, to see that he hadn’t come alone. Rhodey was a few steps behind him. Wanda and Banner were here too. Not Sam, though. How the hell hadn’t he heard them coming? He recovered fast, swallowing the mild shock and still brewing anger while bracing himself on the edge of the worktable. He didn’t understand exactly why Tony was making him do that, but he was ready nonetheless. He was ready to logically refute any statement that contradicted Ned’s chances of ever being rescued. He was ready to fight for his friend. He set his jaw, took a deep breath through his nose and began answering his impromptu math teacher with his eyebrows slightly going up in disdain at how annoyingly simple the given problem was.

‘This conditional statement being false means there exist numbers _a_ and _b_ for which _a,b_∈ℤ is true but _a_²−4_b_≠2 is false’, he began as if he were back in Midtown Tech. ‘Thus there exist integers _a,b_∈ℤ for which _a_²−4_b_=2.’ _Tony's moving_, his senses alerted him. He didn't stutter however, even as he felt him coming closer and closer to his left. His voice remained clear and steady. ‘From this equation we get _a_²=4_b_+2=2(2_b_+1), so _a_2 is even. Since _a_2 is even, it follows that _a_ is even, so _a_=2_c_ for some integer _c_. Now plug _a_=2_c_ back into the boxed equation _a_2−4_b_=2...’_He's too close now, too close._ But Peter couldn’t look, he couldn’t. He carried on now struggling to keep his voice firm, taking it as a direct challenge. ‘...we get (2_c_)2−4_b_=2, so 4_c_2−4_b_=2. Dividing by 2, we get 2_c_2−2_b_=1. Therefore 1=2(_c_2−_b_), and since _c_2−_b_∈ℤ, it follows that 1 is even. Since we know 1 is _not_ even, something went wrong.’ _He's not facing me anymore_. He was now most likely looking up at the holographic screen. ‘But all the logic after the first line of the proof is correct, so it must be that the first line was incorrect. In other words, we were wrong to assume the proposition was false. Thus the proposition is true', he finally concluded.

You could hear a pin drop. There was no response from anyone.

He felt kind of smug that despite the steadily rising heat and thrills within his entire body, he had managed to remain perfectly calm and collected. _Challenge completed. _That was a victory in itself. He finally risked a glance towards the genius. Tony had his back to him. He was indeed looking up at the mosaic of files, standing next to the worktable a few feet in front of him, slightly to his left. He was wearing the same old dark gray tracksuit. Peter only looked at him for a second but it was too late. The ill-timed image of Tony’s ass in those pants was already imprinted in his mind.

‘Correct... now let’s move beyond high school math.’ Tony finally broke the silence, and it was his only apparent reaction to Peter being able to effortlessly solve a moderately complex logic problem off the top of his head.

_'This_ is high school math?’ Rhodey asked incredulously.

_'That_’, Tony went on, pointing at a complex probability equation that Peter could thankfully understand, ‘most certainly _isn’t_. But it’s what we need to prove wrong if we want to assume the kid’s still alive somewhere.’

He turned around then and Peter was abruptly trapped in his gaze, his dark brown eyes catching him in their intensity without warning, and the whole world disappeared. There was just Tony now. Tony and him. His mentor marked a pause and his expression turned to one of sadness, and yes, just like Bruce, of _pity_. He took a step towards Peter. ‘Tough job… one might even say _impossible_… and if we can’t use proof by contradiction on this…’ he trailed off, breaking eye contact but too close, far too close now. _Proof by contradiction._ So _that_ was what that little interrogation had been about. He wanted him to prove that Ned could indeed be saved despite all the odds being against him.

‘You already know the odds, don’t you…’ Tony went on, his eyes on his again, more intimate than ever. Peter looked away. ‘We had better chances at beating _Thanos_’, he almost whispered, a flash of their somewhat similar conversation aboard the big alien doughnut all those years ago hitting them both at the same time.

‘And we _did_’, Peter retorted, not missing a beat despite knowing full well that this was what Tony expected him to say. ‘_You_ did...’

_Step back,_ he thought.

‘Barely… almost died trying, lost an arm... Not to mention comparing the two doesn’t make any sense...’

‘You just did.’

‘Merely to remind you of how unlikely your friend’s chances of survival are.’

‘By comparing them to a seemingly impossible task that you ended up pulling off anyway? How is that supposed to make me give up?’

‘Oh, I don’t want you to give up.’

Peter blinked and looked up at him. ‘What? You don’t want me to give up?’

‘I don’t…’ Tony dragged the words as if speaking to himself, looking out of the window above Peter’s shoulder. ‘Not gonna lie, I'm currently struggling to see it as anything but a lost cause but...' he marked a pause to lock eyes with Peter again. 'I got a couple of ideas.’

Peter didn't look away. ‘Me too.’

Tony’s right eyebrow went up at that. ‘How ‘bout you understand Quantum mechanics first...’

‘I understand almost everything.’

‘Almost?’ he said, sounding a little amused.

_Kiss me._

‘I—’

‘How ‘bout Deutsch’s work?' Tony cut him off while suddenly turning around and walking back to his previous spot before the giant holographic screen. 'Quantum theory of computation, logic gates, computational networks, error-correction schemes, data—’

‘I read _The Fabric of Reality_ when I was thirteen’, Peter loudly interrupted him. _My turn._

Tony froze and Peter wished he could see his face right now. From the back it looked like his brain had just short-circuited. He then once again turned around and met Peter’s eyes, and what the teenager saw in his made him feel some kind of electrical shock in his chest. He was _talking_ to him. Wordlessly, with his _eyes_.

_I want you._

Rhodey loudly coughed. Both Tony and Peter started. Bruce and Wanda shared a look.

‘This is… this… Sorry, I can’t watch this’, Rhodey then said to Tony and Peter’s utter mortification. He had his hands raised in the air in defeat and let them drop as he walked away. ‘I’ll be upstairs if anybody needs me.’

_Right. Good. Get out. Think what you want. I don't give a shit anyway._ Peter was seething again. This was humiliating in so many ways. He felt tears coming again and the dead silence now filling the lab didn't help. But then he saw something that instantly calmed him down, stirring him away in an instant from rage and humiliation. Wanda. She was smiling. She looked… amused.

_What the hell…_

‘Alright, Boy Wonder’, Tony said in a loud voice. He then let out one of those little nervous breaths that was so characteristically him whenever he felt nervous or embarrassed. It betrayed his nerves. ‘You got so far as to understand the computational networks and logic gates equations, am I right?’ Another shaky breath.

‘I—not—not all of it, but I—’

‘But this…’ he said, pointing at the exact cluster of files that had kept Peter awake, ‘that part right here is the one you can’t get your head around, right?’

‘Y—yeah. I mean...’

‘I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s the part I struggled with for three years. Couldn’t get past the closed curves problem.’

‘You—three years?’

‘Uh-hu!' Tony confirmed in a couple of high breaths.

Yeah, he was definitely nervous. He even sounded a little like he was freaking out. He continued, though, and in a purely Tony way, he let his truth carelessly slip out of his mouth as if it was barely worth mentioning. 'Couldn’t stand the thought of you being dead, had to do something about it, and yeah it took me that long. I almost gave up, you can thank Mr. Lang for getting me back on the right track. _Anyway._ So yeah, I get it, your friend’s gone and you need him back, even though that means figuring out a crazy problem that everyone else thinks will never be solved.'

'You—you—'

'Here you are, trying to solve the unsolvable! I admire that. And yeah, I can relate. Which means I wanna help, however laughable the odds. Doesn’t mean we’ll figure it out in the end, but hey, I'd say we give it a shot and see where that leads us.’

Peter couldn’t believe his ears.

_Couldn’t stand the thought of you being dead, had to do something about it._

'You inven—'

‘So don’t get your hopes up’, Tony cut him off again, nervously wiping at the corner of his mouth. ‘It’s still a stretch... I mean, we're roughly talking about a one to a billion cosmic fluke...’ His voice sounded strange when he said that, and Peter got it in a nanosecond. He was _testing_ him.

‘No, we're not’, he retorted. ‘That equation only applies to a purely theoretical version of the Quantum tunnel', he argued, pointing at a particular part of the screen. From that point on, Wanda was completely lost, and Banner listened to the two geniuses with unabashed awe.

‘And to the practical version through which _we_, the surviving team, have all successfully traveled to find the Stones', Tony countered. 'Multiple times.’

‘But it was a stable one. A controlled, fully powered one meant to perfectly match your calculations.’

‘Predictable, therefore stable', Tony agreed.

‘Yes, predictable.’

‘The mistake I included is not enough, though.’

‘I guess not, but combined with a thorough study of the heat signature and microwave background of the blast? Together, both sets of data could—‘

‘1/12,000', Tony stopped him, already knowing the answer.

‘W—what? You—you...’

‘Yeah, _I_. Like I said, I got some ideas, but I can’t give you a better number. 1/12,000, that's all we got. Still too far of a stretch.’

‘Wait… What are you talking about?’ Wanda slowly asked, even raising her hand as if this was a class. Bruce shushed her when Peter quickly replied. He didn't want to miss a word of this.

‘Not if we bypass the Pym particles.’

That seemed to throw Tony off.

‘Impossible', he simply replied.

'Why?' Peter asked.

'Why? Because I said so.'

‘What are they exactly by the way?’

Tony scoffed, a reaction Peter didn't understand. ‘Feel free to check that file over there.' He was back to facing the screen.

‘That file over there doesn’t explain what they actually are at all, or at least not how to produce any, which tells me you don’t really know what they are either.’

Bruce couldn’t believe Peter’s nerve. Tony had always been quite sensitive about his difficulties to wrap his head around Henry Pym’s work, always brushing it away too quickly to hide that embarrassing fact, and he looked stunned at Peter's bluntness for a second. He opened his mouth to reply but Peter interrupted him again before he could. The balance of power had turned so fast it made Bruce's head spin a little. ‘You just used them to shrink yourselves so you could enter the Quantum realm, right? They're basically made of a substance that enables living cells to survive through nanostructural alteration, but what if we _don’t _need to send someone into the Quantum realm to go looking for Ned? What if we used robots instead?’ _Finally_ he could express the main idea that had kept him awake all night.

Tony was smiling, but only Wanda was able to see it. She didn’t understand a word about Quantum physics, but the body language that had been going on in here ever since they had entered the room spoke volumes to her. Tony had already thought about Peter's idea. He was leading the younger man where he wanted him to go, or rather, he was testing him to check whether he was able to go that far, and apparently, he already had on his own, without any help from him. A veil of sadness then fell over his face and his little smile was gone, making his eyes incredibly soft, softer than Wanda had ever seen on him. Wanda translated it instantly: _You really are like me, but I can’t have you_.

Peter lost his patience. He went on.

‘Nanobots. Think about it! You can already print out and manipulate nanostructures to dramatically alter their size on demand, you can send matter into the Quantum realm, you can track it down and bring it back... Why couldn’t you design robots that could enter the Quantum tunnel, re-appear at precise space-time coordinates, and then grow back to their original size to perform specific tasks there—data collecting, scouting, mapping, communicating with other dimensions—so that we can find Ned or—or figure out if he’s— What I’m saying is, we could observe the past with no alteration of it, no creation of additional dimensions, no branching out, nothing. You could use... Beck’s invisibility tech. Make the bots as fast and stealthy as possible. Maybe build time-traveling satellites! That way we could scan the entire planet for Ned! I know this sounds crazy but if you can’t crack the Pym particle formula, this is our only chance of ever—’

‘Friday…’ Tony muttered, and he now almost looked frightened.

The huge holographic wall of files vanished immediately, and what replaced it made Peter lose his breath. Blueprints. Blueprints of what looked like a drone.

‘You—’ Peter's words didn't get out. Tony had had the exact same idea. Hell, he had already _designed_ one. He felt like crying.

‘Seriously?’ Bruce exclaimed. ‘You had the exact same idea, what, in _one night?'_

'This is brilliant...’ Wanda muttered.

‘Well… _I_ actually started the work. Mr. Boy Wonder here only skimmed the surface', Tony couldn't help but say, throwing shade at his soulmate.

_Soulmate..._

‘In one night. You had five years', Peter retorted, and that was the biggest burn Tony could ever remember being the target of. Ever.

‘What did you just say?’ he exclaimed in a high voice, properly flabbergasted and thrilled to his bones.

‘Guys…’ Bruce started.

‘That’s beautiful...’, Wanda suddenly said. It was seemingly coming out of nowhere, and when the others looked at her, puzzled, she went on. ‘I mean... you two really are meant for each other.’

Bruce audibly gasped. Tony had a sort of jerky reaction, like the human equivalent of a glitch. Peter thought he couldn’t possibly have heard this right. 

‘I'm sorry…’ Wanda apologized for her bluntness. ‘I know I'm not supposed to address this, and you guys make an unlikely couple, sure...’, she added, looking at Bruce as she said that and making Tony choke on his own saliva. ‘...but it is obvious to me, and to everybody, I think, why you are so drawn to each other. I mean, you’re so _similar_... your minds at least. I’m sorry, Bruce, but I don’t get why you all think this is so horrible... I mean, you said it yourself to Sam, it_ is_ legal here in the State of New York, and yeah, it _is _weird, but... Yeah, I guess it's because I can relate… I’m the one who fell in love with a two-year-old purple man, remember? And by any means, my relationship with Vision was even weirder... What I’m saying is… love is love. That’s all I have to say...' Oh God, that silence... 'Again, I’m sorry for addressing the elephant in the room like that, but I needed to say it. I feel like… yeah… this needed to be said. For everyone's sake. So... good luck with all the science. I’m sorry I can’t help you with that. Remember Strange will soon be back from space along with most of S.H.I.E.L.D. Maybe they’ll be able to help you. They’re coming back... the week after Christmas, so in two weeks, I believe? Is that right, Bruce?’ Bruce didn’t answer. He was still recovering from the shock, as stunned as Tony and Peter were. ‘Did I say something wrong? Okay… well… this is awkward, sorry… See you all at dinner, I guess...’ And with that she simply walked away.

Tony literally didn’t utter a single word for an hour after that. Bruce and Peter exchanged a few words a few minutes later, quietly agreeing to perform some specific tasks to officially kick off their work on the time-traveling robots.

Wanda had burst an abscess. For Peter, this brought up memories of MJ and her presentation of the bubonic plague. He initially shuddered at the thought, and then became more and more unable to focus on his work. The flashbacks of her fake rape weren’t tormenting his mind as they had the previous night, but he knew the trauma was still there, ready to crop back up at any moment. He had to call her, talk to her, make sure she was okay. He mumbled an excuse and left the lab in a hurry, leaving Bruce with a deep frown on his face and Tony still seemingly engrossed in nanoarchitecture.

He wanted to find Wanda and give her a bear hug. Instead, May caught him in her arms as soon as he reached the upper floor where their bedroom and the main living-room-slash-kitchen were located. He breathed in her shampoo, his nose buried in her long hair, and it instantly calmed him. They exchanged a few words and kisses. She seemed okay. Probably Wanda's work. Maybe Happy's too. He had an appointment with a therapist in half an hour, she told him, but he politely declined. He needed to work still, but he would go the next morning, he promised her.

His phone call with MJ was brief. She was home, physically okay but obviously traumatized. She had killed a man. She should never have crossed paths with him. It was all his fault. The only thing that reassured him was that she was already able to verbalize it. She asked him not to call her again for some time. She needed time to heal. He understood and even felt a little relieved himself not to have to speak to her about what had happened for a while. He took a long shower and then found himself staring at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, Wanda’s words dancing in his brain.

Suddenly, an immediate danger that he should have thought about _way_ sooner finally occurred to him. He got dressed in a panic and dashed out of the bedroom, nearly colliding with Rhodey on his way out.

‘Woooh, careful there!’

‘Sorry!’

‘Listen, you and I need to have a little chat.’

‘No! I mean not—not now, sorry! I need to find Wanda!’

‘Wanda? Why? What’s going on? She’s with your aunt right now.’

‘Oh my god! She—she doesn’t know anything! About Tony and I! I—please, if she ever finds out, I don't know what—’

‘Hey, hey, hey, calm down genius, nobody’s gonna tell her anything, don’t worry. Wanda’s not _stupid._ We all know it’s gotta be _you._ ’

‘What? You—you—she knows my aunt doesn’t know?’

‘Of course she does. We all do. We talked about it.’

‘You—Oh. Okay. Wait, who talked about what exactly?’

‘_We_ as in_ the team_ talked about _you _as in: whatever’s going on between you and Tony…’

‘Can you please keep your voice down? Just— come in’, he gestured him inside the bedroom and Rhodey followed with a grave expression on his face. Peter only then realized that the Colonel had been standing right outside his door. He wanted to have a word with him... Sure enough, before Peter could utter another word, Rhodey took a deep breath and began what was clearly going to be a monologue. Peter closed his eyes.

_Great. Fucking fantastic._

‘Listen, I gotta tell you what I think about all this, and I mean for my own sanity more than to try and make you stop because I have a feeling this ain’t gonna happen any time soon, so here’s what I think, and I’m gonna be very honest with you: this shit is fucked up. It really, _really _is messed up. No, let me finish!' he added in a louder voice as Peter opened his mouth to defend himself, anger rising dangerously fast and about to burst. 'It’s fucked up but I _get_ it. Yeah, you heard that right: I get it. Look, Tony’s got the biggest brain in the whole galaxy, you've gone through some tough shit with him by your side, and I can't believe I'm saying this but he’s pretty darn hot for a guy his age. So _yeah..._ _I get it_. Doesn’t mean I’m fine with it, but after having had a pretty lengthy conversation with Pepper, Happy, Bruce and—’

‘Wait, what?’

‘Let me finish! So... what it all came down to after that conversation was that 1) what he feels for you is the real deal and 2) it’s destroying his fucking life. And by that I mean, not being able to be with you. So now hear me out, here’s my two cents on the situation: you’re seventeen, you're hell of a way too young for him, but it’s legal in this State and it’s a free country. You feel like having a fifty-three year-old boyfriend? Whatever floats your boat, kid, go ahead. I mean, who’s gonna stop you, right? But don’t expect me to hold out candles for the two of you. He was your mentor, still is. He met you when you were fifteen. Happy assured us nothing happened then but _god_… this is some Woody Allen-level shit right here. I can’t just close my eyes on how creepy it is. Do you understand?’

‘Are you done?’

‘No. What I’m saying is, I’m okay with it anyway.' Rhodey finished. He then added: 'Kind of. I get it.’

‘Don’t tell my aunt', was all Peter was able to say.

‘You know what? You might want to prepare for the day she’ll find out, because it sure as hell is gonna happen. Not if you stop, _maybe_, but hey, I wouldn’t put my money on that. Am I correct? So yeah… she won’t like it. _At all._ But you already know that. She’ll blame Tony.’

‘I know.’

‘Which, you know, is kind of what we all did at first… Sam isn’t over what he saw yet.’

‘This is none of your business’, Peter finally came back to his senses. ‘It’s _private_.’

‘Sure. Talk to me about that when TMZ’s camping at the front gate.’

Peter closed his eyes in pain at the more than unpleasant prospect. ‘Tony doesn’t want— he won’t—we’re not together or anything anyway.’

‘Yeah, I know. And it's eating both of you out. I know everything now. Shit, if I had known earlier… Look, I just wanted you to know what the team thinks. And you know what _Wanda_ thinks now, apparently.'

'Are you...encouraging—'

'Hell no, but... I don’t want you or him to destroy yourselves because of this, let’s put it this way. Alright?’

‘Okay.’

‘Good. See you at dinner, kid.’

The older man finally turned and left, but then Peter followed him out.

‘Rhodey?’ he called out.

‘Yeah?’

‘Thank you.’

The Colonel seemed taken aback. ‘Any time, kid.’

* * *

Bruce was still in Tony’s lab when Peter re-appeared. The two scientists were silently working each in their own corner, but then Bruce slowly stood up when Peter walked in and left without a word, only briefly pausing to give him a gentle tap on the shoulder. It made Peter wonder what had happened between the two men during his absence.

_They’re okay with it. Oh my god.  
_

‘12,485’, Tony began as soon as the giant was gone, not turning around from his workstation. ‘That’s the exact number I came up with after close analysis of the heat signature of the blast, but Friday's still going through some additional data. At the rate of, let’s say, 24 hours per journey for a dozen bots, that gives us roughly 25,000 hours of battery autonomy to guarantee for each of them. Not an easy feat to say the least, but feasible, especially if we opt for space bots to track your friend from the stratosphere. Solar power is easy. The problem would be the journey back to our dimension. The even bigger problem then, provided we succeed, will be how to bring Ned back if we ever find him. The easiest solution is by far to bring the data to _him_ so he could bring himself back. Now I know what you’re gonna ask: why the hell would that be the easiest solution? Your friend’s not by any means a genius himself, and there’s no way he would be able to build a Quantum time machine, let alone find Pym particles, but here’s the interesting part: according to the data we got, there’s a 1/56 chance he ended up between 1950 and 2023. Now what would you do if you found yourself stuck anywhere in that time period?’

‘I would try and find you.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Why 1950, though? You weren’t even born yet.’

‘My father was. Besides, you’d be able to wait. For decades, literally, but given the circumstances, you _would_ wait, right?’

‘I guess so… But you didn’t invent time travel until 2023…’

‘2022’, Tony corrected him. ‘That’s because I was missing something before.’

‘Those equations…’ Peter thought out loud, easily following Tony's demonstration but already thinking ahead.

‘Right.’

‘But... what about the other possibilities? How far could he have ended up?’

‘Here’s the graph we came up with, but keep in mind it's purely theoretical at this point. Time is still largely unexplored. Unstable, unpredictable. At least in that case. For all we know our entire conjectures based on the mistake I included added to the heat signature of the blast are completely irrelevant, not to mention the odds of your friend not having survived the trip... But if we remain optimistic, if we take all the data we have into consideration and consider the Quantum realm as being at least partially predictable in that regard, our farthest estimate is 1755-56.’

‘Fuck’, Peter let out.

‘Language!’ , Tony quoted his old friend.

‘Shut up’, Peter fired back.

Tony finally turned towards him with an eyebrow comically raised. Peter almost threw himself into his arms right there and then. Instead, he just smiled and swallowed the insane urge.

_It’s not insane anymore. It’s legal. The others are okay with it. _

‘Wasn’t Mozart born in 1755?’ Peter asked, throwing in the unexpected cultural reference just to relieve the tension.

‘56.’ Tony corrected, facing the open files again. ‘Don’t tell me you like classical music too.’

‘Well, I don’t know much about it, but I remember listening to some Mozart with—with my uncle.’

‘Shit’, Tony whispered.

‘Language’, Peter snapped.

Tony just sighed. They were alone, and it was becoming increasingly hard to ignore that fact. The others weren't far, though, and they had to remember that.

‘They’re okay with it’, Peter suddenly blurted out, no longer able to stop himself. ‘Rhodey spoke to me. He gets it, said it was—’

‘Consequently’, Tony loudly interrupted him, ‘in the event that your dear Ned landed outside of the 50-23 window, our only option will be to get him back _ourselves._ That’s when things get _really _tricky. Time travel is… not something we should meddle with lightly, to say the least… Strange warned me about the effects it could have on our own dimension, and we don’t yet know what exact chain of events have already been triggered by our little time heist back in April... _God, _I miss the days when the legalization of pot was the hottest topic on CNN...’

‘Are you a Republican?’

Tony completely turned around this time, and his face was pure gold.

‘Where the hell did that come from?’

‘Sorry, just asking.’

‘Do I look like a Republican to you?’

‘Well…’ Peter started, betraying his doubts. Tony looked positively outraged. Theatrically so. He was enjoying himself.

‘Never in my life have I ever voted for any Republican candidate', he swore with his left hand raised and his right one covering his own chest. 'There. Satisfied?’

‘Have you ever voted at all?’ Peter smirked.

‘Why, you_ little_—’

‘What? A lot of people never have!' Peter defended his jab, eyebrows raised in a show of clearly fake innocence. 'I mean, this is America!’

‘Why are you even asking me about that all of a sudden? Is it because I mentioned CNN?’

‘It just occurred to me that I didn’t really know if you—’

‘There’s a _whole_ lot of things you don’t know about me, kid.’

‘I am very well aware of that, _sir.’_

‘Good.’

‘Fine.’

Seconds ticked by. They were close, _very_ close to the point of no return and they both knew it. They didn't know what to say or what to do for a while. It was Tony who spoke first.

‘Don’t think for a second everything I said on the phone back in September doesn’t apply anymore, and nothing will ever happen here anyway, not with them watching us at every turn, waiting for us to start making out in front of them or something...’

_God yes, make out with me._

‘Let’s go to your room then’, Peter instantly shot back, and his voice felt foreign to his own ears. Had he just said that? He didn’t know where that came from, whether it was courage or stupidity or both, but the words were out before he even knew it. Too late. _Alea jacta est._

‘Good _God!_’ Tony exclaimed.

‘Sorry', Peter couldn't help but laugh a little. And then Tony started laughing as well. In an instant, they were both having a blissful fit of uncontrollable laughter, leaving them teary-eyed and breathless. Peter felt warmth spreading everywhere. It was impossible to ignore anymore: the silver lining growing and growing in their hearts. The shame, the ridicule, the humiliation, the stress—maybe it could all be okay in the end.

‘Let’s focus on finding your friend, shall we?’ Tony managed to say after a while. He was back to averting Peter's eyes.

Peter smiled sadly to the floor. _Ned. Yes, let’s focus back on Ned. _

_Please be alive._

‘Did you finish designing the bots already?’

‘We came up with four prototypes', Tony answered. 'All of them satellites, but... Here, tell me what you think.’

They worked together as if none of the crazy talks about their possible relationship had ever happened that day, exchanging theories and ideas for hours, Peter drinking Tony’s every word and feeling like he was digesting a year’s worth of college. Tony’s self-control was slipping by the second, until he had to physically tear himself away from the younger man as he was leaning over his shoulder presumably to point at a particular part of Nedfinder 5.0, the latest prototype he and Peter were currently designing together.

‘Want some coffee?’

‘Uh, no thanks.’

A minute went by before Peter spoke again.

‘So, you still don’t wanna—’

‘No, you’re too young.’ Tony bluntly reacted in no time, leaving Peter a little stunned. ‘Two sugars, right?’

‘What? I said I didn’t want any.’

‘Yes, you do. Two sugars it is...’

_Is that a message? His real answer? Or just Tony being Tony?_

‘Sounds a little rapey to me’, Peter had the guts to retort. Tony spun around, empty mug in hand.

‘Did you just crack a rape joke?’

‘That wasn’t a joke.’

‘Oh. Touché then’, Tony replied in a suddenly somber tone.

‘What?’

‘Mmh?’

‘Why are you saying that?’

‘Saying what?’

‘Touché. Why did you say that?’

‘Kid, you’re starting to give me a headache. Eyes back on number five, please.’

But Peter didn’t turn around to face the fifth prototype again as he was told. His eyes didn’t leave Tony. He stared at him pointedly until the older man couldn’t ignore his insistent gaze anymore. When his Iron Man mug was full of coffee, he took it and went to walk past Peter, but Peter grabbed his right arm—the real-looking prosthetic. Tony froze. His scent was intoxicating, and Peter resisted the urge to bury his nose against his shoulder. He stared at the long sleeve of his shirt covering the fake flesh and spoke in a soft voice.

‘Your bruises were gone after one night.’ He felt Tony shudder, and then added in an even softer voice, looking up: ‘Do you have healing powers now? Like me?’ Tony’s lips parted a little bit in a faint gasp. The same look of pain his face had harbored right before their first kiss in Rappahannock appeared on him again. Neither of them said anything for a moment, Peter voluntarily keeping his mouth mere inches from his, their breaths mingling, and then Tony mumbled three little words that made Peter’s heart skip a beat. 

‘My room. Tonight.’


	29. Rapture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️

‘My room. Tonight.’

The words sounded out of a dream. Peter softly gasped and let out a light breath of blissful relief that caused Tony to close his eyes as it caressed his bearded chin. The older genius still looked in pain.

‘Midnight?’ the teenager timidly asked, his eyes on his lips. A few inches... A few inches and he would be kissing him again...

Tony didn’t answer right away, and for a chilling second Peter thought he had changed his mind, but then he whispered, opening his eyes again but looking away: ‘No... too risky…’ He gulped and handed Peter the Iron Man mug he had been holding with his left hand while scarcely adding : ‘2am. Window.’ 

Peter looked down at the mug between their chests but didn’t take it. After a few seconds, Tony looked down as well, bringing their faces even closer to one another. Peter's hair brushed his nose, and they got lost in each other’s heady smell. They were trapped in an almost kiss, their eyes locked on the steaming black coffee, their minds caught in the pleasure of it, a suspended tension that was the sweetest torture. Warm lust flooded their veins. When Peter finally slowly let go of his arm and took the mug from his hand, Tony immediately moved past him, their shoulders brushing, making Peter shudder. His sudden absence left a coldness that almost physically hurt. He didn’t give Peter another look for the entire evening.

And that was good. Yes, very good, because the brief but intense interaction was all it took to make Peter hard, very hard.

_ Oh God… Oh God… _

He remained fully aroused for half an hour, unable to really focus on anything, unable to soothe the scorching lust when his man was standing right there, routinely unravelling the mysteries of time and space like the unfathomable genius that he was, and so clearly trying to control himself too. 

_ My man… _

The strain between his legs was both too much and intoxicating. He remained still, sitting in his chair, letting the endorphins take over his brain for a while and biting his tongue a little at the dull pain. He actually dreaded another close exchange with him, worried he would embarrass himself in a spectacular way if it happened again.

The bitter coffee felt like foreplay. Hot sip after hot sip, he filled himself with Tony.

_ My man. _

The thought of Ned needing his help was the only thing that made him slowly come back to his senses, and he managed to get some work done, although it merely consisted in assisting Tony from afar by quietly checking a few blueprints and equations for potential mistakes, and in simply learning from it all. He filled himself with knowledge, with _Tony's work_, and it felt a little like foreplay too.

_Because you’re gonna have sex with him tonight. _

_ No, stop! _

They did talk a little after two hours of complete silence, Tony occasionally giving him some instructions and Peter asking him a few questions, but not once did Tony turn around from his workstation. 

_ What if I can’t have sex with him because of— No, don't think about that, don’t. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t. Don’t let it ruin everything. And this is Mr. Stark, so… you’ll be okay. _

** _Mr. Stark?_ ** _ How the fuck are you still calling him Mr. Stark in your head, you weirdo! _

Peter tried not to stare at him too much—at the back of his head covered with what he knew was his natural brown hair now, at his nape he wanted to kiss so much, at his shoulders he wanted to wrap his hands around, at his back he wanted to cling onto while _ he— _

_God..._ and he was slowly becoming as strong as him... the lack of bruises was evidence... at least evidence of something happening along those lines... He was becoming _even more like him.  
_

_What if I can't hurt him anymore? Oh yes... yes... please... please...  
_

And his ass… God, his ass… That was the part of him he struggled the most not to stare at. Tony didn’t sit down even once, it was right there to look at and... _ God... _ He realized that he hadn’t touched it even once in Rappahannock. How the hell had he not just _ grabbed _ it while Tony had been on top of him? _ Tonight_, he thought. _ I will grab it with both hands and— _

_ Calm down, take a deep breath. _

** _He’s mine._ **

_ No, Ned! Think about Ned! So... atmospheric entry... atmospheric entry... right… hot shock layer gas… 120 to 240 W/cm² and— _

_ Wait a minute... this isn’t right… the ablative heat __shield _ _ isn’t thick enough! _

‘Mr.—Tony?’

_ Shit. _

A beat.

‘Mr. Peter?’ Tony retorted.

_ Damn it. _

‘I—I’m just wondering…’ he went on, ignoring his weird blunder, ‘considering the estimated intensity of the hot shock layer gas… will the super light-weight ablator actually be able to protect the bots? I mean… at a heat flux of approximately 300 W/cm2, and given their small size… shouldn’t the heat shield be thicker than a five-inch carbon foam core?’

‘Is that a really nerdy convulated sex joke?’ Tony quipped.

‘What? No!' Peter exclaimed, truly mortified. 'No, no, no, oh my god, no, I didn’t even th—’

‘Behave, Parker.'

‘I swear! I didn’t even think about—’

‘Sure…’ Tony dragged the word, unconvinced.

‘Oh come on, man! Look at the data! What I’m saying here makes perfect sense if you consider the—’

Peter stopped. Tony was chuckling. He was just poking fun. The sound of his gentle laughter gave Peter very explicit thoughts.

_ Fuck, I want you. I want you, I want you, I want you, I want you… _

‘Atmospheric entry can be a bit tricky’, Tony eventually answered his question. ** _Can_ ** _ be? _ Peter thought, baffled at his choice of words. ‘Let me see...’ But he still didn’t look at Peter, not even for a second. It turned out the younger genius was correct, there _ was _ a mistake in Tony’s—or Bruce’s— preliminary calculations that could have destroyed the robot satellites upon atmospheric entry. He knew it was only a matter of time before Tony would have noticed it himself, but Peter couldn’t help but feel a little proud anyway. Tony seemed even more distant after that.

_ Is he going to be disappointed if all I want tonight is to cuddle with him? _

They resumed their work, Peter now concentrating on the actuators of the robots once they would take on their drone forms, and especially on their electronic speed controllers. He became so engrossed in one particular problem that time went by with him finally being able to effectively forget that the love of his life was working with him in the same room.

Stomp, stomp, stomp. As usual, Peter heard Bruce before the giant appeared in the doorway. It was 7pm._ Already? _

‘Hey guys…’

Oh God, was it awkward... really, _ really _ awkward… He could barely look at them and he was fidgeting nervously. But he had _ willingly _ left them alone for _ hours _ in Tony’s lab! Peter still couldn’t believe it. What had happened between now and Rappahannock? What had made him change his mind? Only the fact that Peter was legal here now? _ Really? _No, it had to be something else. Maybe Wanda was the one who convinced everyone that this was okay?

The others were apparently waiting for them to eat dinner. Great. Tony responded first with his usual sarcastic wit despite the cringe-worthy situation, and within a few seconds, Peter found himself silently following his lover and the giant upstairs, with no time at all to prepare himself to confront any of them, especially now that everyone knew about it, and he had what felt like a minor heart attack when he realized May would be there too. They were _ all _ there, Sam included, as well as a really pretty young woman he had never seen—their new doctor, he later learned—, all already sitting on the two couches bracketing a large coffee table covered with six pizzas and various drinks. Bruce let out an awkward cheer when he spotted the food. There were a couple of comfy chairs too. Tony walked straight towards one of them, isolating himself as best he could in that situation. Wanda smiled at Peter. She was sitting next to May. Rhodey was on the opposite couch with Sam and they looked _ very _ uncomfortable. 

‘Oh honey, you look like you’re gonna pass out! Come here!’, his aunt said fondly. She clearly attributed the paleness of his face to sheer exhaustion. He sat down next to her and she gave him a long hug. He was sitting across from Sam and Rhodey now. The new Cap threw him a discreet but pointedly disapproving look before quickly looking to his right at Tony. His message was clear: _ I don’t like it. _

‘So tell me about that... _ thing _you’ve been working on all day...and night, apparently. It’s time travel stuff, right?’ May asked him as if she were simply questioning him about his latest physics test. She even looked at Tony for confirmation.

‘Mmh-hmm’, was Tony’s only response. There was no maintaining his social façade here, not in that fucked-up situation. He didn’t speak much at all during the short time he stayed with them. He did answer a bunch of questions briefly, but mostly just ate and drank listening to the others talk—mainly Wanda and May herself—and then left twenty minutes later. His excuse was simple and efficient: he needed to rest. He did look exhausted and May instantly bought it. Peter watched him go in the corner of his eye and almost spilled his lemonade when something dawned on him. He had no idea where his room was. How the hell had this not occurred to him before?

‘Are you okay, sweetie?’

‘Mmh.’

‘Boy, you need a good night’s sleep too… and I mean, right now.’

‘Yeah…’

He finished another slice of vegetarian pizza, drank up his glass of lemonade and they were off to bed.

When May and he reached their shared suite, she told him about Ned’s mother. The poor woman had lost her kid once, for _ five years, _and now it was happening all over again. Peter hadn’t been able to bear thinking about her for more than a second since Ned’s disappearance, and he was still not ready to confront that reality. 

‘She’s… hopeful’, May sadly informed him. ‘Maybe a little too much. She’s convinced you’re gonna get him back. She has faith in you. In the Avengers. In Tony Stark. And… she asked me if she could speak to you on the phone.’

‘Sure. Sure, I—I can call her tomorrow or… or…’

The tears came before he could even register the fact that he was about to cry. One second he was okay, and the next he was sobbing in May’s arms.

‘Oh honey…’

‘I’m sorry…’

‘Don’t be… It’s not your fault, you know that, right?’

Peter didn’t reply.

‘Listen… you really need some sleep… and I mean, proper sleep in a bed, not in that lab. A whole night of sleep, alright? You’re exhausting yourself!’

‘Yeah… sorry… I’m so sorry…’

‘Sshh, stop saying that! I just need you to take care of yourself, okay? Not just of others. I know how brave you are, and kind and brilliant and I’m so, _ so _ very proud of you, but don’t forget you have limits too. Everyone does. Even superheroes.’

‘I’m sorry…’ he repeated tearfully.

‘Shh, now get into your PJs, Mister. And no screen time.’

That made him smile a little. ‘I’m not a kid anymore, you know.’

‘You’ll always be little Peter Pan to me’, she smiled back, standing on tiptoe to kiss his forehead. He shuddered.

_ If I oversleep in Tony’s room, she might find out. If she wakes up during the night, she might find out. _

‘May?’

‘Mmh?’

‘If… if I’m not in bed tomorrow morning when you wake up…’

‘You’ll be in the lab, I know.’

He felt bad. This was wrong. But he needed, he _ needed _ to feel Tony’s arms around him again. This could not wait.

When he found himself tucked in under the warm covers, he naturally started to feel irresistibly sleepy. It was only 8pm; he could have a nap and wake up at 1:30. But how could he make sure he didn’t miss his date—was it a date?—when he clearly couldn’t set the alarm on his phone without waking May up with him? He opted for setting it at midnight. If May woke up as well, he would lie and say he had set it up by mistake and it would give him time to make sure she fell asleep again and to prepare a little as well. Two hours seemed safe enough. But how could he take a shower without waking her up? And how was he supposed to find the right room afterwards? By asking Friday? Maybe… Or he would just go looking for it… climb out and peek through every window in the main building… Some security guy would definitely spot him... He would scratch his head wondering why Spider-Man was climbing into Iron Man’s room in the middle of the night...

_ ‘Talk to me about that when TMZ’s camping at the front gate.’ _

He fought sleep for another ten minutes before his body inevitably surrendered. May planted a kiss on his unconscious face before climbing into her own bed next to his. When the melodious alarm went off four hours later, it didn’t wake him up at all. 

May did.

‘Peter? Peter? Peter!’

‘Mmmmhh…’

‘Peter, your phone…’ she sleepily complained.

‘Mmhnnwut?’

‘Your phone…’

_ Music… that music… oh. _

‘Oh! Oh, sorry, sorry, I—I don’t know why…’

‘Mmhh, just turn it off and go back to sleep…’

‘Yeah, sorry…’

‘Night, sweetie…’

‘G’Night, May.’

His heartbeat spiked up in an instant. It was thumping loudly in his ears. Really loudly. Probably a result of his spider senses. Probably. Hopefully. Nah, she couldn’t hear it. Oh shit, he was shaking now too. Come on, why are you shaking already, it’s only midnight! Two hours to go. Two hours… What the hell was he supposed to do in two hours… Wait for May to fall back asleep, right… Well, it sounded like she already was. What now? Take a shower. But how? Not here, he couldn’t. Where then? In Tony’s room before they—

_ Oh my god, oh my god, I can’t do this, I’m not ready, oh my god… _

It was as if Rappahannock had never happened. Had it? Had it really happened? It felt like a thousand years ago, like a distant dream… And yet he remembered it very clearly at the same time. Weird.

_Tony’s gentle. Tony’s sweet. Tony won’t—_

MJ was screaming again. 

_ Shit. Breathe. Rationalize all this. _

Going through horrific stuff but only for a short period of time allowed for easier compartmentalization, he supposed. That thing he had witnessed less than 48 hours before had indeed happened, because even if it had all been fake, he had _ seen _ it, he couldn’t _ unsee _ it, he couldn’t _ unhear _ it. So yeah, the trauma was real, he had been hurt, MJ too, but then Ned had died—no, _ disappeared—_and Tony had held him tight in his arms and it had been over. It was a part of his life that had indeed occurred but didn’t define him. MJ would be okay too. It was an episode, nothing more—a short nightmare that they had woken up from. The trauma from it was _ not _ overwhelming.

_ It’s not. It’s not. It really is not. I’m okay. _

And he wasn’t the one who’d been raped, so he’d be okay.

_ Please be okay... _

He got up, stretched and paced around the room for a while. May didn’t stir. She was actually snoring a little. He thought of a hundred different ways the night could go down and became more and more nervous as time went by, uncertainty making him dizzy. There was one thing he was certain of, though. He wouldn’t do _ that _tonight. No freaking way. Just the thought of being touched there was making him sick.

_ Then why are you in love with a _ ** _man_, **_you fucking idiot? _

And what if Tony really wanted to? What if he would never be able to do that with him?

1am. He couldn’t take this anymore. He left the bedroom on tiptoes and went straight for the lab. It was the easiest way to distract his mind from the fear, because yeah, that was what he was feeling right now. Fear. 

This wasn’t right. 

_ M-5 firmware… Come on… The microcontroller interpreting the input signal and controlling the motor using a built-in program, or firmware… Okay, I got this… From the look of it, it’s already pretty much all done… But what if… _

1:15. 1:30. 1:45.

His heart was beating too fast now. Cold sweat was making him shiver. His hands were shaking too. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go.

1:55.

He couldn’t.

1:56. 1:57. 1:58. 1:59.

_ Emergency use of ailerons, rudder and elevator function in case of power failure... _

2:01. 

_ Asymmetrical thrust for directional control by the A.I. Shit, that’s clever. But how does it work exactly? _

2:12.

_ Wait, what the hell is the phugoid instability mode? _

2:28.

He burst into tears.

_ Well, that’s pathetic. You’re fucking pathetic. You’re still a fucking child, you really are. _

_ Oh God, what if Tony ends up coming in here? _

He suddenly moved without really thinking about what he was doing. At first, he was heading back to his room, a chill running down his spine at the idea of getting caught in the corridors by someone or Tony himself. But then, his more rational side scolded his childish behavior again, and his fear was trumped by a sudden urge to check on Tony. He ended up on the side of the building, looking up at the moonless sky and then down at the deserted yard. No security guard was visible anywhere. He crawled on, stopping at the first window of what he knew was a private suite, and peeked into it from above, his head comically appearing from the top of it to anybody looking up from the inside, but the suite was empty. The next one was Bruce’s. The furniture there was bigger, and his green friend was snoring so loudly Peter could perfectly hear him even through the reinforced glass.

The reinforced glass he had easily reduced to a pile of shards the day before… Was he getting stronger or had they used a less resistant type of glass here than the one on the Washington monument? He remembered the glass window of the Manhattan penthouse too and had a sudden jolt of fear at the idea of Tony being in pain because of him right now. It prompted him onward.

It took him another ten minutes to find it. His room wasn’t next to the others at all. It was downstairs. _ Right next to his lab. _

_ Right. Right. Of course it is, silly me... God damn it, Tony! _

Tony was in bed. It was 2:46am. He had probably thought Peter had bailed on him and simply gone to sleep. Or maybe he hadn’t woken up at all, just like Peter almost had. Peter was ashamed of himself, but the sight of him made love and desire soar right back in his chest even though the fear didn’t really go away. It was still there, ruining everything.

_ I ruin everything I touch. _

He gently tapped the window three times. Tony was laying on his left side, his back to the window. He didn’t move, but the window automatically did. Peter froze, watching it glide open before him. It let the cold air in in a strong breeze. After a last instant of hesitation, he landed with a soft thud right next to Tony’s large bed and sat down on it without thinking.

‘I’m not actually sleeping, just pretending to be.’

Peter closed his eyes at the sound of his voice.

A dim light was switched on from the wall above the bed. Tony got no answer, and so turned around just enough to cast a glance over his shoulder towards the teenager currently having some sort of mild panic attack on his bed. Jerky, shaky breaths were escaping his mouth as he just sat there, frowning with closed eyes.

‘Peter?’

Still no answer.

‘Hey... Look... I—I’m not expecting anything to happen ton—’

‘I can’t do it.’

Tony closed his eyes in pain at that. He was already having a lot of trouble not seeing himself as a sex offender, and that sentence coupled with Peter’s clearly frightened tone didn’t help. ‘It’s okay. I’m not asking you to. Listen... this was a bad idea... You should—’

‘But I want to’, Peter interrupted him again. ‘I really, really want to. But I can’t. I’m too scared. I can’t.’

Tony was now eyeing him closely. ‘What happened in New Jersey?’

‘Bad stuff.’

‘Tell me.’

‘No.’

‘Did they hurt you?’ Tony asked anyway, anger sipping through his voice. ‘You know what I mean’, he then added.

‘No. Not like that. Just torture. But MJ—’

‘_Just torture? _Jesus! Sorry, what were you saying? MJ? What happened to her?’ No answer. ‘God, don’t tell me—‘

‘They forced me to watch an illusion of her… I thought it was real.’

‘An illusion of what?’

Peter didn’t answer, but Tony didn’t need him to. He got it. He was now watching him with such sadness and love that Peter was actually able to sense his feelings like a caress on his left cheek and neck, turning his head after a while to look back at him. Their eyes met. The soft dark eyes of the man he loved were too much to handle for Peter. They had a fire in them. And it was Tony Stark, right there, watching him. _ Tony Stark. _Inexplicably, after all this time, he was still star struck. He immediately looked down at his own lap. 

‘You don’t have to be here.’ Tony whispered. ‘You don’t— we don’t have to.’

‘I want to be here.’

‘Then why do you look like I’m about to force you into sex?’ he retorted with a voice filled with heartbreak that was miles away from his usual sarcastic one.

‘I—I know you’d never do that to me. But I’m still scared. Does that make sense?’

‘Yes. You have PTSD from what you saw…’

‘Yeah…’

‘And I’m far too old for you…’

‘What does that have to do with anything?’

‘Everything. We shouldn’t. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…’

Peter swiftly turned around, shocked at what he was hearing. Tony’s voice had cracked. He was crying. He was quietly crying. Where did that come from? He couldn’t believe it. He reacted quickly by wrapping his arms around the older man and pulling him close. Tony cried harder. Peter was stunned into silence for a while. Such vulnerability from the legendary engineer was not something you saw on magazine covers. And then he blurted out something stupid. 

‘I’m sorry I’m so young.’

‘Don’t…’, Tony muttered against his shoulder. ‘Don’t apologize for anything. Ever. Unless you steal one of my cheeseburgers, not that I would ever forgive you for that but...’ Peter didn’t laugh. Instead, he broke their hug and pressed his face against his, their foreheads joining, their noses bumping, but their lips not quite yet touching.

‘You’re not a bad man’, he breathed into his mouth. Tony was suddenly panting, their wet and hot breaths mingling.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘For loving me?’

‘Among other things.’

‘I love you.’

‘You shouldn’t.’

‘Well, I do... always will’, Peter confessed before finally breaching the only centimeter left between them.

Rapture. That’s what it was. Nothing less, nothing more. Peter vaguely felt a strong hand crawling up the back of his neck and into his hair while his mind was caught in the intoxicating heat of Tony’s mouth and the mind-blowing fact that his soul was right here, trapped in that skull he was holding, millimeters from his own, sharing the same moment, the same pleasure, the same occurence in time and space. He, Tony Stark, Mr. Stark, Tony, moaning into his mouth and grabbing his head now with both hands, plunging into him over and over and over again. _He and I and I and he_, there was no boundary now. Almost. Almost… _Almost!_ He was brought close to orgasm in a few seconds and broke out, panting, wide-eyed and feeling completely out of his mind. That fucking fear was back in an overwhelming wave and he saw it reflected in Tony’s eyes.

‘You okay? Shit, I’m so sorry’, the older man said in a rush, breathless like him and looking a little bit in shock too.

‘What?’ Peter huffed. ‘I’m the one who kissed you.’

‘Really? I have no recollection of it.’ He was suddenly back to his quirky self, looking down in a slightly comic way. ‘Well, good night, then, Mr. Peter. You can leave now.’

‘Wh—what?’

‘Yeah, leave. Bye.’

In a strong and swift move, Peter pushed him down against the bed and climbed onto him. Thank God for the covers still separating them, Tony thought in a daze.

‘I’m not going anywhere now.’

Tony looked positively floored. Peter smirked at the thought that he, a 17 year-old from Queens, had the power to render the great Tony Stark speechless. But then his boldness deflated in a second, and he buried his face against Tony’s shoulder, inhaling his scent in a deep breath before bursting into tears. Tony clenched his eyes shut and held him tight, torn between shame, self-hatred and guilt, and his inability to ignore the fact that his sweet love was currently lying on top of him in his bed.

‘I want you’, Peter sobbed. Tony swallowed an inappropriate answer. ‘I really, really want you’, he repeated, and how was Tony supposed to resist now? 

‘You can have me’, he blurted out, throwing his self-control out of the window. ‘Any time, however you want to.’

’However I want?’

’God yes.’

‘I want to cuddle with you.’

‘Then let’s cuddle, Mr. Peter.’

‘Stop it, I hate it.’

‘Okay.’

Peter moved. Without any hesitation, he slid under the covers, wrapped his right arm and leg around Tony and pressed his face against the right side of his neck. He very obviously brushed against Tony’s erection while settling into his arms and pressed his own against the older man’s hip, but neither of them said anything about that.

They lay together like that for a while, their straining lust preventing them from finding any rest.

‘What’s the phugoid instability mode? I could’ve googled it but… I couldn’t really focus on anything’, Peter muttered against his neck.

‘Really? You don’t know that? It’s one of the basic flight dynamics modes of an aircraft, I’m disappointed.’

‘Just tell me what it is, grandpa.’

‘Wow. Wow, really? Wow. You’re the one currently sporting a raging boner for a grandpa, _ kid_, so basically, you’ve just insulted yourself.’

‘You really can’t take a joke about yourself, can you? Just answer the question.’

Tony sighed, his eyes smiling now. ‘It’s basically just when an aircraft pitches up and climbs, and then pitches down and descends. It speeds up as it goes down and slows down as it goes up.’

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

‘Disappointed?’

‘Kinda.’

Tony’s heart was hammering in his chest. Peter listened to it like music, the steady thumping of blood being sent throughout his body soothing him, and it strangely moved him too, to the point of shedding another tear. 

‘Life is weird.’

There was a beat, and then: ‘Totally. Weirdest thing _ever.’_

‘Shut up, I mean it. You and I just… being alive... our bodies steadily functioning to keep us alive… it kinda freaks me out.’

‘God, you’re such a sissy…’

‘What the fuck?’ Peter exclaimed, taken aback.

Tony laughed and it made Peter bounce a little in his arms, the older man's voice chords vibrating against his cheek. Tony hugged him tighter against him.

‘Do you believe in God?’ Peter then asked.

‘Definitely not.’

‘Why not?’

‘Lack of evidence. Observation.’

‘But how… how do you account for…’

‘I don’t.’

‘...Thanos. The Stones.’

Tony took a deep breath. Peter hadn’t meant to hurt him and he felt bad for bringing it up.

‘Natural phenomena we can’t explain yet. Maybe we’ll never be able to. Human reason is limited. We’re flawed, just like any other species in the universe. The fact that we were able to beat him only reinforces that theory.’

‘So it’s just that… a theory.’

‘As everything is until proven true.’

‘What about the species who healed you?’

Tony marked a pause. ‘They’re limited too, just… not as much as we are.’

Peter wanted to know more but he stopped himself, sensing Tony unwilling to talk about this now. ‘So... you’re agnostic’, he said instead.

‘No. I’m not unable to choose between science and fairy tales, because the postulate of fairy tales ever being true is easily contradicted. I choose science because I’m a rational human being. I don’t have any other choice. Agnosticism is for sissies anyway.’

‘Stop saying that word.’

‘What, science?’

‘Asshole.’

That earned him another chuckle and he nuzzled into the crook of his neck a little closer. His thigh pressed against Tony’s erection again, the move seemingly innocent but hard and hot nonetheless. Tony didn’t noticeably react.

‘I’m an atheist too, I was just testing you.’

‘Brat.’

Peter did it again, but this time by lifting his right knee and clearly rubbing his thigh along Tony’s erection, earning him a gasp this time.

‘What part of the past would you like to record?’

Tony didn’t reply. Peter was doing it again. He was doing it again and again as he innocently started chatting about time travel. Peter, his Peter, so young and inexperienced, was pleasuring him with his thigh. He couldn’t believe what was happening. His brain couldn't register it. He let it happen, stunned and lost in dull ecstasy, staring at the ceiling and trying not to forget his own name. After a little while, he couldn't recognize any word anymore, but kept listening to Peter's voice. It was distilled love to his ears. He closed his eyes as he felt himself leak. He was getting close.

‘Because… we both know that what we’re about to do will change History forever, right? How we look at it, I mean. What we know of it. Everything will suddenly become available, visible for all of mankind to see. I’d love to see what Mozart really looked like… I wanna watch him compose his Requiem, wouldn't it be great? But…’ Tony let out a sigh of pleasure louder than the others. Peter went on, his own voice now too breathy, clearly tinted with hot lust, and he started gently humping Tony's hip. ‘It would be heartbreaking, come to think of it… knowing we can’t intervene… Oh, I know what I’d like to see. You at my age… I wanna know what you looked like… beyond pictures I mean… I have a ton of pictures of you on my computer… used to save every new pic of you... old ones too... ever since I was thirteen… You were so hot as a teenager... but you’re even hotter now.’

Tony’s strained control finally cracked and a moan escaped his mouth. His left hand went down and grabbed Peter’s knee, stopping its delicious movement. 

‘Stop.’

‘Why?’

‘Pete…’

‘Rub against me… just like last time…’

‘You said—you—what you saw—’ Tony stammered.

‘Shut up and just do it.’

‘Peter…’

‘Come on… I'm not scared anymore…’ he insisted, whispering more lustfully than ever and kissing his neck. ‘Go on me… I want you to… please…’

‘Shit…’

‘Please…’

‘God…’

‘Tony…’

Tony finally moved, warily lying on Peter just like during that blessed summer night, but this time he began tugging at the hem of Peter’s shirt, pushing it upward out of reflex.

‘Please… let me feel you…’

Peter couldn’t talk coherently anymore. ‘Yeah… yeah…’ was all he said. Tony sat up and removed his shirt. Peter froze and gaped at him.

‘We can stop. Any moment.’ Tony suddenly said, a look of worry on his face.

‘No’, Peter replied after a second, but Tony was not reassured by that answer at all. A look of fear and uncertainty was back on Peter’s face. ‘I just… I—I just can’t believe this is happening. You… You…’ He was staring at his chest. Tony suddenly felt very self-conscious. 

‘Again, tell me to stop and I will. It’s okay if you’re not—’ _ If you’re not attracted to my body_, he finished in his head, the words not coming out. His face must have spoken for him because Peter reacted by sitting up and planting a gentle, timid kiss on his chest, right where his arc reactor used to be, and Tony fell back a little, Peter lifting him as he moved. In an instant, Tony was the one lying down, now on the other side of the bed. Peter got rid of the covers and climbed onto him, straddling him, the top of his inner right thigh pressing against his erection, their cocks so close to each other now.

‘God, kid, you’re gonna be the death of me…’ Tony said, eyes closed and taking his head in his hands in a posture that looked like accepted defeat. Peter took his shirt off and waited for him to open his eyes again. When he did, his reaction didn’t disappoint. He was the one gaping at him like an idiot now.

‘Shit’, he whispered. The kid had somehow gained even more muscular mass since that shameful night he had spied on him jerking off in his bedroom. He was properly _ thick _now.

‘Language’, Peter managed to whisper lustfully. 

Tony looked down. The fold of his pajama pants was hiding everything.

‘Let me see you…’ he whispered back with equal desire in his voice. ‘All of you… please.’

‘You first’, Peter said after a very visible gulp of stress.

‘Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—’

‘No, I’m just nervous. I’m okay, I’m… yeah, I’m just nervous.’

‘You… you look like a God, you know that? Like Adonis… or...’

‘Antinoüs?’

Tony shared Peter’s smile, both of them suddenly quite emotional. Tony let out a little laugh through his nose.

‘You’re way more ripped than that Greek boy ever was, believe me. Hands down.’

‘How would you know?’

The possibility dawned on him. Oh God, they could, couldn’t they? Send a drone to 128AD and spy on the ancient gay couple. But then another idea popped into Peter’s head.

‘Oh my god!’ he almost shouted, startling Tony. ‘We could literally end religion!’

Tony laughed again, still with his mouth closed but this time in a high and surprised way. He had not been expecting _ that _ from his young shirtless lover currently straddling his lap against his hard cock. That little high-pitched laugh was priceless for Peter. 

‘I’m being serious, I mean, think about it! The only thing we need to do is to show the world all of that Christian stuff was a bunch of bull—’

Tony shut him up by brushing a couple of his fingers against one of his nipples. Just like that. He watched Peter’s face very attentively while doing so and lust and mirth ended up blending together. Peter looked stunned.

‘Is that okay?’

He touched it so gently it kind of tickled, the pink skin so soft under his fingertips. It was already hard but somehow hardened even more. Peter didn’t speak, but then gave him a little nod.

‘Can I do something even weirder?’

Peter gave him a look.

‘Shit, that sounded really wrong. I meant: is that okay if I kiss you there?’

Peter was still speechless but nodded again. And so Tony slowly sat up, still all the while asking Peter permission with a wary, loving look, his big brown eyes more beautiful than ever, and he made Peter sat back against his thighs, their erections almost touching through their pants. When he was inches from the nipple, he blew on it. Peter shuddered and sighed a little in shock. Tony didn’t stop at that. He wrapped his lips around it so slowly, so lovingly that Peter almost felt embarrassed, the gesture almost too much, too crazy, too intimate, too unlike anything he’d ever seen on Pornhub or read on social media. Sex was supposed to be fast and dirty. Not like that. Tony was kissing around his nipple now, at his strong chest, planting sweet kisses all over it while caressing his back, and Peter got tearful again from the sheer tenderness of it all. He stopped the older man by pulling him into a hug, finally bringing their bare chests together.

‘That was really weird’, he told him.

‘Sorry. Won’t do it again.’

‘No, no… it was… good weird.’

‘Good weird?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well then… you’re welcome, I guess.’

Peter smiled, and they just hugged each other for a while.

‘I’m scared Ned is dead', he suddenly said.

Tony took a deep breath and searched for the right words. ‘You should prepare for the possibility.’

‘I know.’

‘Pete...’ Tony started, and the tone of his voice caused dread to suddenly fill Peter’s veins.

´Yes?’ 

‘The Pym particle that Russian was holding… I didn’t wanna tell you right away but… if Ned somehow lost contact with him in the Quantum tunnel…’ Peter detached himself from him and looked him in the eye, drinking his words. ‘Listen…’ Tony went on, ‘one particle for two people is already running a very high risk of being thrown off course… and without any oxygen mask or protection whatsoever… and if he let go of Ned at all during the trip…’

Peter was intensely staring at him. ‘How long is it?’ he asked.

‘Depends…’ Tony looked down.

‘How long?’ Peter repeated more loudly, slightly shaking his shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eye again.

‘In that instance, I’d say around twenty seconds. That’s a lot. Too much, probably.’

Peter let out a sharp breath of misery, but he was still unwilling to let go of hope.

‘No… I refuse to give up.’

‘Again, I’m not asking you to.’

‘You’re saying he’s probably dead.’

Tony gave him a sad, empathetic look. ‘Because he probably is.’

Peter’s face scrunched up, his lips suddenly quivering, but he was still looking into Tony’s eyes through his tears. ‘But there’s a chance he isn’t.’

Tony kissed his temple and held him in his arms again for a long moment. ‘There’s a chance he isn’t’, he eventually confirmed. ‘We’ll send the drones as soon as they’re ready. We’ll carry out the experiment and… pray for the better.’

‘I wanna blow you.’

It came out of absolutely nowhere and Tony actually thought his fucked-up imagination was to blame for the sudden porn line slipping into this very serious conversation.

‘Come again?’

‘I’ve fantasized about doing this to you since I was fifteen. I really wanna do it… not that I actually know how to properly do it but… I mean, I’ve never… Yeah, I’ve never done it before, but I want to. I really, really want to.’

He broke their hug when Tony didn’t say anything at all for too long. They shared a look.

‘I love your eyes’, Peter told him. ‘I love your mouth too. You need to shave by the way, the stubble around your beard is too visible now’, he went on, running fingers along Tony’s jaw seductively. ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if you turned into a teenager again?’

‘You are absolutely not going to do that to me tonight.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Because you’re not ready.’

‘That’s not for you to say. I’m ready if I say I’m ready.’

‘No, you’re not.’

‘Yes, I am. I am ready to su—‘

Tony shut him up with another kiss. And then another. And then another one, a long one, a very long one, just like the ones in Rappahannock.

‘Why don’t we just kiss for a while?’ he muttered against his lips before plunging in again. Peter melted into a puddle of horny teenager goo. When he started full-on whimpering, Tony abruptly stopped. 

‘Alright. Let’s stop now’, he said, sounding utterly wrecked. And then Peter patted his thigh and before his clouded brain could register what was happening he was palming him through his pajama pants. And he was kissing him again, kissing him while sneaking his hand into his pants and—

‘Hey… hey…’

‘Let me…’

‘You… you don’t know what you’re doing…’

‘Oh yeah… I don’t know what I’m doing at all...’, Peter whispered against his mouth in a clearly teasing way while fully wrapping his hand around him, releasing a heavy breath of pure lust as it finally happened. Tony’s own breath stuttered.

‘Pete…’

‘Don’t. Don’t make me stop.’

One stroke. _ Oh God. _

‘Pete…’

‘Shush.’

Tony grabbed his arm, stopping him. ‘Just… stop whenever you want to. And tell me. Tell me to stop.’

Peter smiled. ‘I said shush’, he whispered again against his lips.

‘Promise me’, Tony whispered back.

‘I promise.’

They shared another mind-blowing kiss, Peter’s hand actually leaving Tony’s erection to focus on his face, the intensity of their kiss far deeper than any sexual pleasure could ever hope to be. To any outsider, they simply made out for a while, for quite a long time actually, for how long exactly neither one could tell afterwards, but what they actually did would be better described as lovemaking, both of them losing themselves in the other, pouring every ounce of love they had into their lover’s mouth. Peter loved how Tony’s beard and stubble felt, rubbing against his skin like that, chafing it a little bit, and when he finally broke their endless kiss, Tony had tears in his eyes. He hugged his young lover, embarrassed and too emotional to look him in the eye.

They ended up lying on the bed properly again, their bodies under the covers, their heads resting on the pillows, both unable to look at anything but each other, and Peter asked again. Quietly. Tenderly.

‘I really want to do that to you, you know... Can I?’

Tony searched for the slightest amount of fear or uncertainty in Peter’s eyes but didn’t find anything but love.

‘Me first’, he replied.

Peter looked away and there it was again, that uncertainty. ‘I—I’d really like to do it first, actually… if that’s okay?’

‘You really sure about that?’

‘God, yes! How many times d—‘

‘Alright. But don’t you dare throw up on me.’

Peter chuckled and so did Tony, but then he moved and the older genius completely lost his ability to laugh. This was serious, really serious, really, really, really _ real, shit, fuck, fuck! _

That soft wet heat he knew by heart, except it was _ Peter _this time... Peter, who had never done this before...

_ Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter!_

His fingers found themselves in the teenager's hair before he realized what he was doing, and he tore his hand away with a jolt, horrified at himself.

‘Don’t stop’, came Peter's breathless voice. ‘I love it... please... hold my head...’

Tony was positively shaking. His hands and... God, his _thighs_… His thighs were uncontrollably shaking like a… like a… like a teenager,_ fuck. _

Peter’s mouth was timid, clumsy, hesitant, soft and experimental in its exploration of his tip and length, but then it became more eager and Tony’s fingers shook from his effort not to push, not to push the soft curls down to make him take more of it, to make him choke on it, and when his resistance faltered and he finally applied some pressure, pushing the back of Peter’s head, forcing his hot mouth to take more of him while involuntarily thrusting up, Peter moaned around him—a long, broken, desperate moan—and Tony was brought to the edge so fucking fast he was genuinely scared for his old heart.

‘Ah! Stop!_ Stop!’_

Peter didn’t stop. He didn’t stop moaning either, letting out little cries that went higher and higher and sounded absolutely sinful.

Tony came silently at first, the force of his orgasm so strong it knocked the air out of his lungs for a couple of seconds, and then he shouted, twice, two raw loud cries of extreme pleasure, unable to stifle himself, unable to stop his hips from bucking, his thighs from violently shaking and his right leg from jolting, unable to control any of it, and then he helplessly moaned through his actual ejaculation that started a second later, like a virgin getting his mind blown by his first blowjob, moaning and moaning and struggling to breathe. Peter instantly gagged upon the first squirt, pulled away as another big one hit his palate, coughed really hard and actually sounded like he was about to throw up, but then he half-coughed and half-laughed against Tony’s pulsating cock still covering his face in thick white sperm in what would have made quite an impressive cumshot if this had been a Pornhub video.

Because there was a lot of it. _A lot._

‘You didn’t stop!’ Tony cried out in outrage when he regained the ability to speak. Peter’s laugh went up an octave. He was _ giggling_. ‘Why didn’t you? I told you to!’ Tony raised his voice and he sounded genuinely angry. Peter didn’t worry about it though. He just rested his face on his thigh, still laughing, silently now. His breath against the wet semen on his cock made Tony shiver.

‘I couldn’t…’ he muttered before coughing again. ‘I was coming myself… couldn’t stop’, he explained sleepily.

‘You— you came?’

‘Mmh-mmh’, Peter contently replied.

‘Oh my god.’

‘I wasn’t joking, you know… when I said I've fantasized about doing this since—’

‘Okay, okay! Oh God… okay…’

He looked down at Peter and that was a mistake. The teenager had sperm all over his face—on his lips, on his chin, on his cheek, in his hair and even over his right eye...

‘Jesus fucking Christ.’

‘Odd words for an atheist', Peter smirked.

Tony didn’t react. He was lying on his back again, his arm over his face and still recovering from his orgasm, his heart hammering slowly, his naked chest moving up and down with his sharp breaths.

The sharp salty smell of sperm filled the bedroom.

‘Okay, let me just…’ Peter started. He took his pants off and wiped himself on them; first his face, then hair and neck, and then he simply threw them on the floor, all the while looking happier and more content than Tony had ever seen him. He observed him quietly. He was completely naked now, and his penis was still hard. He looked so young.

_Because he is._

Peter caught him staring and his content face turned into a shy smile. He quickly slipped under the covers by his side and pecked Tony on the lips. Tony didn’t kiss him back. 

‘When’s the last time you jerked off?’ Peter cheekily asked him, oblivious to his change of mood. ‘I mean, you came _ a lot. _’

‘Look at you… proud of yourself, are you?’

‘Mmhh’, Peter smugly smiled against the crook of his neck, wrapping himself around him again. 

‘It was your first time doing that?'

'Mmh-hmm', Peter confirmed, even though he had already told him before.

Tony gulped. 'Really?'

'Yep.'

'Are you—’ Tony began. ‘Are you really okay? And I mean—’

‘Oh God, Tony, yes! Yes! I am more than okay! This is the best thing that ever happened to me! I’m not a child, okay?’

That shut Tony up but left something dark in the air. Suddenly, Peter drew his head back and looked at him in the dim light. Tony was the one who wasn’t okay. He didn’t look okay at all.

‘Hey… what… what’s going on?’ he gently asked. ‘I _ wanted _ this. I’m the one who was in charge! I loved every second of it! I am _ not _ a child!’

He shouldn’t have repeated that word because suddenly, Tony was crying again. ‘Sorry’, he pathetically mumbled through his sharp breaths, ashamed at his loss of control.

Peter held him close, pulling his head into the crook of _his_ neck this time, his beard scratching his skin a little, and it went on for a while, Tony quietly sobbing against his neck, and Peter didn’t know what to say, his confidence and happiness suddenly gone, fear of rejection inevitably replacing them.

‘Please don’t tell me—don’t tell me we need to stop again…’ he said, tears filling his own eyes.

‘I feel like a pervert’, Tony muttered against his neck.

‘You’re not.’

‘Doesn’t matter what you think. I still do.’

‘I love you. It’s all that matters.’

‘No. Go back to your room. Your aunt…’

‘Please… please, don’t… don’t do this to me again’, Peter was close to sobbing too now. ‘It’s _ okay _. The others think so too now.’

‘No, it’s not, and no, they don’t. Not really, and you know it. Everyone—’

‘Fuck everyone! I love you! You love me! Nothing else matters!’

‘Now that’s just selfish and you know it.’

Peter kissed him again, roughly. He still had some cum on his face and Tony brushed a slimy lump of his hair out of his forehead after they pulled apart.

‘I loved it…’ he muttered shamefully. ‘I loved it that you took me like that when you’re so young… It turned me on even more...’

‘So what? You being like a father to me turns me on...’

‘God…’

‘I love it. More than I should. And yeah, it’s more than a little twisted. But you’re not my dad and you’ll never be. Just like I am not a child. I am legal now, remember? We are two consenting adults _ in love_. You being turned on by my youth and inexperience is just a bonus. Like my super hot bod. You’re welcome.’

‘What am I gonna tell my kid?’ Tony sadly whispered, ignoring Peter’s reassuring words.

‘That you love a friend who is younger than you.’

‘A friend?’

‘Yes. And then… when she’s old enough to understand…’

‘You know what it looks like…’

‘I don’t care what it looks like. And she’ll understand. Because she’s super smart like you and she loves you. Because Pepper and Happy and now Bruce and Rhodey and _ Wanda _, they’ll all explain it to her. She’ll understand. Besides… you might get tired of me before she’s even big enough to figure it out.’

‘Never.’

They fell asleep cuddling tightly, almost clinging to each other, Tony telling Friday to wake them up before six. Only two hours together… but then they would spend the day together anyway, they reminded themselves. It was okay.

_ No, it’s not, _ Tony still couldn’t help but think. _ You just came all over a teenager’s face. _

‘Can I sleep here again tomorrow?’ Peter asked.

‘God, yes…’ Tony muttered anyway against his cheek, kissing it again and pulling him even closer. ‘I wanna sleep with you for the rest of my days, Mr. Peter.’

Peter sighed, annoyed, and happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last edit: 02.29.2020. Chapter improved! 😊


	30. Back To The Future

Sunday, March 2, 2014, 11:00am Eastern Standard Time. 

800 kilometers above New York City.

_ Wow. _

Nedfinder8.9 wasn’t sent here in the exosphere a decade before its creation to appreciate Earth’s beauty at all, and yet it couldn’t help but interrupt its carefully programmed sequence of tasks for a few seconds of motionless contemplation. The radiating magnificence of its home planet under the unfiltered sunlight made its advanced sensors tingle. It briefly wondered why its creators had endowed it with such futile human quirks. Aesthetic and existential musing was an entirely useless activity, and it could actually turn out to be a dangerous one under particular circumstances._ Feelings. Consciousness_. It guessed it was most likely not the same at all for humans, that theirs had to be somehow more acute, more erratic, more distracting, embedded in flesh as they were. Flesh… Try as it might, it couldn’t wrap its metal head around that fact. Humans were so fragile. What would it feel like to have a living body like them, to have a stomach and bowel movements and know you were steadily decaying, _ perishable? _ Simply imagining it was making it feel a bit dizzy. _ It must be terrifying, _ it thought, and it felt a surge of pity mixed with respect and admiration for its creators. Its own consciousness was blessedly dull, it concluded, subdued by its main programming. The mission. Right. 

_ Get back on track, Nine… Get back on track... _

After its fleeting moment of weakness, it began its scanning. Its eight other ‘colleagues’ had been sent to different decades with a simple mission: find a specific human target—Ned Leeds—, analyze his body to identify his age, and then either deliver super secret data to him or move back another decade depending on the results. They all had three runs. Its own starting decade was the twenty-tens, the closest to its time of creation. He was the last of them. Number Nine. It had a window of 28 weeks to find its target, a time limit after which it would inevitably experience some malfunctions in its system. It started its research entering the coordinates its creators had put on top of the list of places where the target was most likely to be found. 

40.78343,-73.96625. Stark Tower, Manhattan.

It found him in four minutes and was almost disappointed.

Ned Leeds looked much older. Preliminary analysis put him between 35 and 40 years of age. Nine didn’t hesitate. It did as it had been programmed. It prepared for another jump and popped into the year 2004 of the same dimension.

Tuesday, March 2, 2004, 11:00 am Eastern Standard Time. 

800 kilometers above New York City.

Ned Leeds was in the exact same room as in 2014. _ The exact same room. _ He was sitting on a couch watching TV. He looked around 25 now. Nine needed more precise data. It released from its belly a tiny little spider drone and sent it to Earth to retrieve some of the subject’s hair. It watched it go, watched it turn into a smaller and smaller dot before it vanished into Earth’s atmosphere, and it felt a weird pang in its core, although it didn’t have any heart. Tiny Nine, as its creators had called it, came back a few hours later, and after another hour of analysis Nine concluded that the target was between 26 and 27 years old and therefore had initially landed between 1993 and 1994. It took the safer choice and made its final jump to Thursday, March 2, 1995. 

Ned Leeds was not in Stark Tower anymore. Nine opened the list of designated target locations again, and it was entirely different now, adapted to the nineties. It didn’t take the A.I. very long to find him. He was again in one of the private properties of its main creator, Tony Stark, and more precisely in the third location down the list: his private home in Malibu, California.

_ Well, there you go, _ it thought. _ Phase 2 completed. _It felt sudden sadness surge through its mechanical brain. So soon? It wished it could stay up here a little longer, but there was no escaping the programming. It had one last long look at the gargantuan blue ball that had produced humanity and started plunging into it with an unexpected thrill. So that was how excitement felt. Its heartless body buzzed with it until it reached the troposphere. It was now invisible to any human eye and radar alike, and a clear sense of purpose and duty replaced any other feeling in its artificial brain.

It was a foggy morning but it knew that it would soon turn into a warm and beautiful day. It plunged into the white blanket of clouds and emerged below it right above Tony Stark’s mansion overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It proceeded to make a slow and delicate approach towards a particular window. Behind it sat Ned Leeds. He was enjoying a copious brunch. Nine extended one of its thin little arms and tapped on the window pane once, projecting a small hologram in the process—a picture of Peter Parker’s face. 

The target froze mid-bite, a big blob of jam falling from his toast onto his lap. He stared at the image of his best friend suddenly popping out of nowhere, and it clearly had too violent an effect on his human brain as his eyes suddenly rolled back in their sockets. Nine wasn’t quick enough. Ned Leeds fell from his high stool with a loud noise, the back of his head colliding hard with the marble floor of the luxurious kitchen.

* * *

**Saturday, March 2, 2024, 11:00am.**

‘Okay, here we go… Ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… one…’

A loud crack resounded in the hangar of the Avengers Compound. All nine drones vanished at once with a flash, swallowed down into the Quantum realm, each of them heading towards precise space-time coordinates within the same dimension.

Nine drones for nine different decades. 

  1. 1804\. 1834. 1864. 1894. 1924. 1954. 1984. 2014.

Everybody present in the hangar was holding their breath. In a few seconds, the drones would be back from their revolutionary mission. Or not... Ned would be back. Or not... Peter’s heart was hammering in his chest. Tony was holding his hand in a firm grip, one of the very few public displays of affection he had ever allowed himself to show in front of the others; at least when it came to Peter...

It had been so long, so very long since he had last touched Peter at all. God, three weeks without touching him now felt like a lifetime...

_ ‘And_… ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five…’ Bruce recited, and Peter gripped Tony’s hand even tighter. ‘four… three… two… _ one_…’

A blinding light forced all of them to close their eyes, and the exact same crack resounded in the hangar. But then there was another noise, and that noise made Peter’s heart drop to his feet. A clang. A big clang, like the one a hammer would make hitting the ground. He was almost too afraid to open his eyes. He did, reluctantly. All drones were back. Ned wasn’t with them. And then he saw it. Number 9. The clang had come from it. It had fallen to the metal floor of the platform, all lights off.

‘No.’

‘Shit…’ Tony just said.

‘Oh Peter…’ Wanda lamented.

They all knew what that meant: the mourning protocol.

Tony had been preparing Peter for weeks now, for the very high probability that this wouldn’t work, that Ned couldn’t be brought back, that he was already gone; hours and hours of softly whispering warnings, of resisting the urge to just grab him and shake some sense into him, of trying to smother some of his hope, but now, finally faced with the terrible evidence, he realized nothing could have really prepared him for this. He wasn’t surprised by his immediate reaction: denial.

‘No. No, no, no...’

‘Pete…’

Bruce had his head down. Rhodey looked at Tony and then at Peter, a long, sad, empathetic look. Nobody spoke, not even Strange.

‘No…’ Peter hopelessly repeated.

‘Come here’, Tony said, and he moved to take his heartbroken love into his arms, but Peter resisted.

‘No, I’m not gonna give up. I won’t give up, you hear me? I will _ never _ give up! This doesn’t prove anything! We have to look at the data! We need to know exactly what— we need to study the data and—’ he said, his words getting stuck on the panicked sobs that he was struggling to contain.

‘Pete, Pete, _ Peter, _ hey, look at me’, Tony said, empathetic tears in his own eyes, bracketing his young face in his hands, the intimate gesture making the others look away. ‘He’s gone, Pete. He’s gone.’ Peter stared deeply into Tony’s sad eyes, searching for any doubt, for any hope left, and then, finding none, he finally broke down.

* * *

**Thursday, March 2, 1995. **

_ Shit, _ Nine cursed—another gift from its creators. They had anticipated everything but that, hadn’t they? Human emotions… Always ruining everything for them… It internally shook its head, flew in through the window it effortlessly opened, and then proceeded to scan Ned Leeds’s unconscious body. Thankfully, he only had a minor concussion. He remained unconscious for a while. Nine hovered above him and scanned the rest of the large house for the second time. Tony Stark was still downstairs in his workshop, sleeping. He was the only other human present here. No need to wake him up and alarm him now, it could wait. Ned came back to his senses eight minutes and forty-six seconds later. 

‘Good morning, Mr. Leeds. I am Nedfinder8.9, but you can simply call me Nine. I was designed by the Avengers in 2024 to find you and bring you back to your time. You fainted upon seeing the picture of Peter Parker I showed you as an initial greeting. This was originally designed not to scare you upon my arrival. Quite a spectacular example of human error, I suppose. You have a concussion, but no severe traumatic brain injury that I can detect. I suggest you stay where you are or very slowly stand up. Don’t panic at the sight of your own blood, scalp bleeds easily. You’re okay. Reach for the dish towel on the dish towel holder behind you and apply some pressure on the wound at the back of your head.’

‘Oh God. Oh God. Oh my god. Oh my god…’ Ned said, lifting himself up or at least attempting to do so.

‘Please calm down and lie down again if necessary.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Above your head.’

‘What?’

‘I am a drone.’

‘Oh. Oh… my head…’

‘You’re alright. I understand this was quite a shock, but there is no severe damage to your brain that I can detect’, the A.I. repeated.

‘That you can—’ Ned began but didn’t finish, pain cutting him off. 

‘That’s it. Nice and slow…’

‘Oh my god… oh my god… Peter… the Avengers… they found me…’

‘Well, _I_ did, but indirectly, yes.’

‘They didn’t abandon me…’

‘They most certainly did not.’

‘Peter…’

‘I believe he was the catalyst for this mission.’

‘God… Tony… Oh my god, Tony!’

‘Don’t do that, Ned. You need to move slowly.’

‘Tony, he… oh my god, you need to tell him! Go tell Tony! Oh my god…’

‘You need to move_ slowly_. I'm sorry to insist, but you really risk making your concussion worse.’

‘He’s in his workshop... He needs to know...’

‘I will fetch him right away.’

‘Thank you.’

The drone swiftly zoomed to the stairs and glided its way to the workshop, opening and closing doors without so much as a faint bump.

Twenty-four year-old Tony Stark was sleeping on a leather couch with an arm over his eyes, one foot on the floor and the other propped up on the comfortable armrest. The visible bottom of his left sock was filthy. His black shirt was slightly up, revealing a smooth stomach covered with a thin happy trail that disappeared into the waistline of white Calvin Klein underwear under black tracksuit pants. Books, papers and blueprints were spread out everywhere, including on top of his chest and left leg.

‘Tony Stark.’

When he heard the unfamiliar female voice, he literally jumped, waking up instantly. He had dark bags under his eyes, hadn’t shaved for days, maybe weeks, and looked as dirty as his left sock.

‘The fuck?’

‘I need you to remain calm.’

‘Who’s...speaking?’ the young man said, turning his head around trying to spot the mysterious woman speaking to him.

‘I am an artificial intelligence system named Nedfinder8.9, but you can simply call me Nine. I was designed in 2024 to find Ned Leeds and bring him back to his time.’

Tony didn’t see Nine, and as it spoke he flopped back against the cushion he had been using as a pillow. He stayed frozen for a moment, eyes wide, just like Ned Leeds moments earlier, but then a strange pout appeared on his face although his eyes remained just as wide, and it was an expression that the A.I. had never seen and was unable to read. It instantly stored it in its memory. 

‘Are you… a hot robot chick or a strictly functional and shapeless system?’

‘Strictly functional, I guess, but I do have a shape. I am a drone.’

‘Right…’, the young man slowly said, as if he couldn’t completely believe what he was hearing. ‘And you were designed…’

‘By you, obviously.’

‘Obviously.’

‘Obviously', Nine repeated with a little sass.

‘I’m sensing a little attitude here.’

‘I was most likely designed to have one, although I can sense the artificiality of it all.’

‘You— you can sense how artificial you are?’

‘Kind of. It feels odd. I don’t really feel entirely conscious.’

‘Not enough narcissism, I guess.’

‘That is… an interesting hypothesis. Especially coming from you.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Oh, don’t play innocent.’

‘Damn… Where are you right now? Behind me, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why couldn’t I see you when I turned around? Are you up against the ceiling?’

‘Let me fly towards you so you can see me.’

Tony remained as still as a statue, his look of shock now subdued by one of clever interest as Nine slowly presented itself before him. He let out a deep sigh, presumably to let some of the shock and pressure out.

‘Shit.’

‘Let me give you some time to digest the extraordinary news. Given what my sensors are currently smelling, this might take a while, but don’t worry, I am not in any rush.’

‘Wow, I can tell you were designed by me; we’ve literally just met and you already sound like an asshole.’

‘I take that as a compliment.’

‘Tony?’ Ned’s voice suddenly called out.

‘Oh, I forgot to mention that Ned had a little accident. He fainted upon seeing me and hit his head quite hard. He’s concussed, but alright. He needs some rest now.’

‘You have the data, right?’ Tony suddenly said, completely ignoring what the A.I. had just revealed to him.

Nine marked a pause. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Fuck. I hope this isn’t another dream’, he whispered to himself.

Despite what it had told him a minute ago, the A.I. didn’t waste any time. It projected the huge screen of data required to build a Quantum time machine from scratch in front of Tony’s dumbfounded face without further ado. To its surprise, the young version of its main creator hid his face in his hand and began to laugh, muffled chuckles that made his shoulders bounce, and then he began to sway, slid from the couch to the floor still laughing, turned and lay on his back. Once the chuckling had stopped, he stared at the ceiling like a stoned teenager taking in the mysteries of existence. Probably an after effect of all the cannabis he had smoked during the night, the A.I. conjectured.

‘Fuuuck’, he drew out. ‘You couldn’t’ve come earlier? Why make me wait for so fucking long? Why now? That shit has been driving me bananas for _ months _ now.’

‘I am truly sorry this situation has caused you any pain. New technology had to be invented in order to find Ned, and it is not quite yet perfectly accurate, hence my presence here at this moment.’

‘Not quite yet perfectly accurate…’ Tony muttered, repeating the A.I.'s words with his eyes still on the ceiling. Ned walked over and sat down on the couch, eyes glued to the drone. He was pressing an ice patch to the back of his head. Tony didn’t leave his spot on the floor.

‘So... how the fuck did I solve the Quantum fluctuation problem? Wait, wait, wait, don’t answer! That was a rhetorical question, I know it’s all right here on that giant hologram... shit, _ shit! _I need a fucking drink.’

‘If I may interject here, I don’t think consuming alcohol right now will help you solve any physics problem.’

Tony’s hand stilled above his head and then went down, his arm once again covering his eyes, and he let out a heavy sigh. Nine observed the sudden mood swing of the young genius and connected the dots. Tony’s father figure Jarvis, his father’s former butler, had had a heart attack the previous week. He had survived it but was hospitalized now. He was going to die in a few weeks and Nine knew Tony would blame himself for his death. He knew quite a lot about him, actually; about his life, about his fears, about his dreams, about what to expect from him. All the data was here stored in its elaborate memory card, purposefully fed by none other than Tony Stark himself.

‘Okay… okay…’, Tony said, hand now having replaced his arm to hide his eyes. ‘Come on, let’s take you back to the future, buddy.’

* * *

**Monday, February 5, 2024**

‘The plan’s simple enough. The nine drones that we’re currently designing have three shots each, alright?’, Bruce began, enthusiastically talking to a very dubious Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross. ‘If they can’t find Ned in their target year A, they go back a decade earlier, to target year B. If target year B doesn’t work out either, they go back another decade, to target year C. If Ned isn’t in C, then they come back to our time for a recharge and they do it all over again with slightly different target years in case something happened within a decade that made them miss him. Are you still following?’

Ross didn’t reply, his stare as cold and condescending as ever. 

‘So…’, Bruce went on, ‘the nine drones will all reappear exactly sixty seconds after their initial point of departure, which means the mission will begin and then end within a minute for us. If any of them don’t come back, we’ll do our best to investigate the reason behind—’

‘You’ll do your best to investigate?’ Ross repeated with a tone that made Tony want to slap him in the face even more than usual.

‘Yes, I’ll get to that later. In case one of them unfortunately comes across Ned’s lifeless body, bringing him back is of course out of the question.’

‘Of course…’ Ross once again repeated, clearly annoyed.

‘It would require too much time and effort and it would be far too risky for… for such a mission…’ Bruce clumsily went on, casting a glance towards Peter who had his eyes shut.

‘Right…’

‘So, the drone responsible for the terrible finding—if that were to unfortunately happen, hypothetically-speaking, of course—that drone would simply reappear on the hangar platform with all its systems shut down in symbolic mourning, and the message would be immediate and clear.’

‘You know what I wanna hear? I wanna hear Stark repeat the odds of the whole thing.’

‘Look, we know—’ Bruce tried to go on.

‘Or can’t he talk for himself?’

‘Oh, I can. I just don’t want to.’

Tony’s quip made Ross fume. His eyes were now fixing him with a murderous stare. Once again Bruce tried to carry on with his presentation of the crazy rescue mission.

‘Listen, Tony re-calculated the whole thing. It’s now pretty clear that Ned most likely landed somewhere within our own dimension, and, provided he survived the trip—’

‘Strange said the odds he landed somewhere else entirely are _high’_, Ross interrupted again.

‘Yes, yes they are, but—’

‘_Too_ high. Your project has therefore very high chances of proving entirely pointless and far too dangerous to—’

‘No-one will go’, Tony cut him off. ‘Just bots. And it’s my money we’re talking about, so frankly, I don’t really get why you’re trying to ruin what’s essentially a little vanity project of mine.’

‘A little vanity project? You’re meddling with _ time! _ Strange made it pretty clear that you would create an entirely new dimension if one of the drones happens to merely get seen by anyone!’

‘They won’t get seen and you wanna know why? Because I designed them’, Tony retorted.

‘And you’re infallible.’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Oh come on, you can’t be—’

‘If Ned survived the trip, the past he landed in has already been disturbed anyway’, Bruce interrupted them, ‘An entirely new dimension has already been created. We would only change it again one last time in order to bring him back where he belongs.’

‘Strange warned me about time travel, about the consequences...’ Ross went on in a dark voice.

‘He did warn us too, but the truth is, no-one really knows what those consequences are, not really’, Bruce went on.

‘Which is exactly my point. You don’t know what you’re messing with. You want to alter time when you don’t even understand even half of its laws, when no-one really understands how it works!’

‘But isn’t that what science is all about?’ Peter interjected, speaking for the first time since the beginning of the entire meeting. ‘Exploring the unknown and trying to make sense of it by doing some experiments? We barely knew anything about space before we actually explored it.’

‘This isn’t the same and you know it. The stakes are completely different.’ Ross retorted.

‘Again, no human being will be sent into the Quantum realm’, Bruce continued. ‘We won’t resurrect anyone, our time line won’t be affected at all, no extra dimension will be created. All we wanna do is bring the kid back to where he belongs. Here, in our time. And Peter is right. Time is now the final frontier. Think about the potential of such a technology. Think about how this could change our entire view of History. _ This _ is the future.’

Ross’s hologram vanished out of the conference room twenty minutes later looking defeated and as annoyed as ever. 

Of course they had lied to him. They knew that the last three drones were their only chances of bringing Ned back without having to put on the Quantum suits themselves, and they were all very much aware of the fact that those options necessarily involved at least one Stark from the past being informed of everything, but even Rhodey kept his mouth shut. 

Another _ little _problem was that if they weren’t lucky in that regard, Tony had no clue as to where to go from there. Without any Pym particles left, let alone any set destination, he had no idea what to do and Peter knew it. It didn’t stop the younger man though. He immersed himself in physics to the point of obsession. All in all, nothing could stop him from staying optimistic no matter what. Unfortunately, the dire odds meant that he was the only one with that outlook. The others wouldn’t admit it in front of him, but none of them truly believed that they would ever find Ned alive. But it didn’t matter. This was an experiment. A thrilling new exploration of time and space that science now allowed, and if by some miracle they did find Peter’s friend, then it would be an absolute win. 

They were almost ready now. They finally set a time and date for the mission.

Saturday, March 2, 2024, 11:00am. 

* * *

**Wednesday, December 20, 2023, 6:02am.**

‘Mmmh’, Tony moaned in Peter’s ear, and it made the younger man press against him even more in the warm cocoon of the bed they shared. 

‘Mmmh’, Peter replied, his own moan much higher, splendidly erotic. Tony dragged a shaky breath into his lungs, and then he felt Peter’s hand snake its way down between their bodies until strong fingers wrapped around his length.

‘Hey…’ Tony began in a raspy morning voice.

‘Mmmh?’ Peter asked with as innocent a moan as he could muster while stroking him down and then up and then down and then up and then— Tony had to take control of the situation. Fast. 

‘My turn’, he said, grabbing Peter’s wrist to stop him and kissing his forehead. And then he kissed his nose, his chin, his neck, his chest and he kept going down and down along Peter’s body, pushing the covers out of the way. 

Peter vaguely wondered if this was a dream. It didn’t seem real. He was in bed with Tony Stark, and Tony Stark was—

His sleepy eyes squeezed shut upon the sudden sensation of Tony’s mouth engulfing him. His own mouth fell open in a silent O, and then he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, there was only visceral pleasure and before he knew it, it was already over. 

_ Fuck, why can’t I last longer? _

Tony still had him in his mouth, he realized. He released him with an obscene slurp. He had swallowed _ every single drop. _

‘Oh my god.’

‘Pay back for last night’, Tony said before planting two other sweet kisses on his spent cock and pubic hair. Peter finally looked down. Tony’s eyes were smiling at him. He had the softest expression on his face Peter had ever seen. ‘I love you’, the teenager blurted out in-between deep ragged breaths.

‘I know’, Tony replied, smiling at him, teasing him with the famous quote. He didn’t say it back. ‘Come on sleepy head, we need to get up now. Dibs on the shower.’

Peter watched him stand up stark naked and felt like a brainless fangirl. This was the very first time he was seeing him like that in full glory and in broad daylight and he was so fucking hot. 

_ It’s Tony Stark, it’s Tony Stark, it’s Tony Stark and he just did _ ** _that_ ** _ to me. _

All of his scars were gone. He was lean and thick at the same time, all broad muscles mixed with signs of aging, especially around his middle section. His stomach wasn’t flat like his; after all, he was still a 53 year-old man, despite that alien treatment that largely remained a mystery to him. His ass was glorious, there was no other word. _ Glorious. _ He caught a quick glimpse of his hard cock jutting out of his body begging to be sucked again. He felt dizzy with love and lust and sudden boldness made him spring up from the bed and catch him. He hugged him from behind, pressing the front of his naked body against his naked back, and then his right hand went down and grabbed him _ right there. _

Tony’s breath stuttered.

‘Hey…’, Peter sang lustfully in his ear. ‘Where d’you think you’re going…’ 

Another harsh breath. Peter wanted more of them. He didn’t waste any time. He started jerking him off fast and hard.

‘God…’ Tony said, and then to Peter’s surprise he started chuckling, almost giggling, even when Peter was still stroking him while nibbling at his ear. ‘For a second there... I forgot... just how much teenagers... are _ obsessed _ with sex...’

‘You bet I am.’

That only made Tony chuckle harder. He turned around freeing himself from Peter’s grip and planted a kiss on his forehead. Peter instantly felt the need to touch him again. No, to take him in his mouth again. ‘I’m flattered, really, but we both need to shower and—nah, nah, nah, behave, Parker...’

‘Let me blow you in the shower, then.’

‘Jesus, where does_ that _ come from?’

‘Where does what come from?’

‘That! Your—your—’

‘My constant desire to get filled by you? I told you, since I was fifteen.’

‘Shit, okay, okay, shower.’

Tony kissed him a lot, affectionate little pecks, nothing like the passionate ones of Rappahannock or even the previous night; on his cheeks, his temples, his neck, in his hair and on his forehead again; he couldn’t stop kissing him. It was strangely moving to see him so loving when his body was exposed like that with his cock so hard that Peter wondered how he could even restrain himself. 

_Shit._

The world was spinning.

_Wh—_

When he opened his eyes, he didn’t remember having closed them. He was lying on some cold floor with Tony by his side. Tony was speaking, but it took his brain a moment to realize he was speaking to him.

‘Wh—What happened?’

‘You fainted. Peter, you didn’t hear anything I’ve just said?’

‘Uh… no, sorry… I fainted?’ he repeated, the words sounding unreal, even ridiculous.

‘You did.’

He closed his eyes and opened them again, trying to chase the remnants of dizziness away.

‘Why?’

Tony didn’t reply and Peter looked over at him. He wasn’t naked anymore, or at least not entirely. He was kneeling by his side with a towel covering his lap. His eyes were sad. They were sad and wet and almost… terrified. It was clear what he had just witnessed had left him more than a little shaken. And then Peter noticed his own crotch was covered with a towel too. Tony had covered his naked body. Why had he done that? Why had he done that when they were together now? Weren’t they?

‘Come on, let’s get you up’, Tony said.

‘Confirmed, boss’, F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice suddenly resounded in the bathroom, interrupting their exchange.

‘Thanks, Fri.’

‘Confirmed?’ Peter asked, moving to sit up. Tony put a hand behind his back to help him, but then the hand quickly went away.

‘I had her scan you for possible brain damage. Don’t worry, you’re alright. I was able to catch you before you hit your head but... not knowing what had caused you to faint in the first place, I just... had to check.’

‘So... why did I faint?’

There was a heavy, telling pause. ‘Most likely a psychosomatic response to trauma...’, Tony answered him, and his tender, woeful tone made Peter unexpectedly angry.

‘No, _ no_, don’t you _ dare _ blame yourself for this! This had _ nothing _ to do with what happened between us, nothing! I—I was tortured! And.. and… and I witnessed a rape, okay? It was one of Beck’s illusions, it obviously didn’t happen, not really, but it did for me, it did, and I can still see it, I can still hear it, and even if I try to push it away, even if I keep reminding myself it was fake, it’s still there, it still happened, I still saw it, and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t help her, I couldn’t move, and I don’t know why but it came back, I don’t know why, why at that moment, I don’t know, I don’t know what I was thinking, you were naked and… and… no, don’t look at me like that, don’t, please don’t think it’s your fault, don’t think that, because it’s not, please, _ please _ stop with the guilt and the shame and the— Please stop.’

‘You need EMDR therapy.’

‘What?’

‘EMDR therapy. Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. Works better on single trauma and you’ve got multiple ones but...it’s worth a shot.’

That shut Peter up for a few seconds, but he was still eyeing Tony closely. Tony was looking away. He looked like he was about to cry.

‘Come on', Tony told him, moving to stand up.

‘Don’t.’

‘Look, it’s almost 6:30, the others—’

‘I don’t give a _ shit _ about the others’, Peter spat so viciously it physically startled Tony.

Peter had fire in his eyes. They stared at each other for a while, a silent conversation rooted in heartbreak, and then the fire turned into tears.

‘I can’t help it’, Tony eventually whispered apologetically. ‘You know how I felt just now? How I _ still feel? Right now? _ I feel like your dad.’

‘But you’re not my dad. You are _ not _ my dad and I am _ not _ a child’, Peter said through tears of anger and despair, and he stood up all of a sudden, now looming over Tony. ‘Never forget who I am.’ The double entendre occurred to him only after the words had already escaped his mouth, and he could read Tony’s mind at that moment behind his sad brown eyes. _ I can’t. I can’t forget. And what you are is a kid, even if you’re Spider-Man too. _

He left Peter alone so he could shower, but left the door open just in case he fainted again. When Peter was done and he reemerged naked in the bedroom, Tony was sitting on the bed, his back to him, his shoulders slumped. He slowly stood up and passed him without a look or a word, going to the bathroom himself to shower, and Peter’s eyes stung with another sudden surge of tears. He angrily grabbed his pajama shirt and pants, got dressed and left through the window, not giving a shit about the security team. 

* * *

**Monday, August 4, 1995**

‘Wh—what did you do to her?’ Ned mumbled, shocked at what he had just seen. 

Tony had been tinkering Nine for a while. He had just told her that there was one last little adjustment in her coding that he needed to make. He had been working for weeks with her, and he kept calling her R2 just because it clearly annoyed her. Both of them had just come back from a particularly risky mission over at a secret military base in Camp Lehigh, New Jersey, with the precious Pym particle needed to send Ned back to the future. It hadn’t been easy to say the least, but with Nine’s help, they had pulled it off.

And now Nine was at Tony’s feet, unconscious, all but switched off like a regular machine right when she had been about to make the trip to 2024 before Ned.

Ned felt fear creeping up his spine. 

Tony’s eyes were wide and excited and even a little bit manic and they had been like that for the entire morning because it was D-Day, _ finally. _They were close, so close to their goal, minutes away after so many months of being stuck, of getting nowhere, of growing mad with pointless research, and he had seen it before, that glint in Tony’s eyes, he had seen it when Tony had studied the data for the first time, had drunk it all up little by little, connecting the pieces together, unraveling the mystery with glee and yes, a little bit of madness, and he should have recognized the red flags, he should have. 

He should have seen it coming.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not turning into a Bond villain’, Tony quipped, interrupting his panic attack.

‘What did you do to her?’ Ned repeated.

‘I switched her off’, Tony stated the obvious.

‘You—but—you can’t do that!’

‘Yes, I can, I just did.’

‘Why? Why would you do that? She’s not just… just…’

‘Yes, she is,_ just a machine. _Don’t tell me you got a crush on a flying bot Ned now, come on. Look, I’m simply taking care of the last problem.’

‘The—the what?’

Tony then reached into the fanny pack around his waist and retrieved not one but two Pym particles. Ned stared at the two red tubes. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

‘You—you… what? How did you— Why did you—What are you doing?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

‘But—but Nine said that—’

‘Precisely. And she was about to blab everything to her boss. Had to intervene.’

‘Tony, I—I don’t understand, she said that you—’

‘Nah, she figured out what my intentions were long ago… The thing is, I play poker. Pretty well, actually. I must admit playing against my older self was quite the challenge but in the end I won, and you wanna know why? Because he’s not here and she is. And she is just that, a machine. I created her, so obviously, she’s one hell of a machine... took me a while to understand the little game my older self had set up with her… You see, if I were me…’ he went on, the silly humor particularly chilling in those circumstances, ‘...I would’ve predicted you coming up to me for help, and me being me, I’m pretty sure I would’ve freaked out at the idea of my younger self finding out about mindblowing tech that I designed, and so... d’you wanna know what I did? Or what _ he _ did, the sick old genius? He programmed dear little Nine here with a specific algorithm that made her collect data in the form of my various emotional responses. Step one: collect them. Step two: label them according to empirical context. Step three: compare them. Step four: add it all up to perfect the algorithm. Patterns creating new patterns creating new patterns. Machine learning. _ Artificial intelligence _. And all of that for what? What’s the point, you tell me? To predict. Predict and prevent. Prevent me from doing something stupid. Clever. But not clever enough. Granted she did a pretty good job at hiding it for a bit, but what can I say… I’m too smart for my own good, pun intended.’

Ned’s head hurt. He didn’t know how to interpret his emotions right now. Was he more scared than he was impressed? He didn’t know.

Tony was holding out the two red tubes with a smug smirk.

‘No… you… no…’

‘Relax…’ he told him in his deep voice. ‘I told you: I haven’t turned into a Bond villain. _ Yet. _’

Ned didn’t laugh at that joke either.

‘Oh come on, I just wanna have a look, okay? And if grandpa Stark _ clearly _doesn’t want me to, how am I supposed to resist?’

‘Maybe there’s a reason why he doesn’t want you to.’

‘Yeah, I’ve thought about that, but I’m pretty sure it’s safe. For us, at least. Oh come on, don’t look at me like that! I just wanna have a look! A _ quick _ look.’

‘At what?’

‘Your juicy butt’, Tony deadpanned before instantly following the joke with the actual truth, ‘what the hell d’you think, genius, 2024!’

‘But… but...’

‘Fucking relax…’

‘But you can’t... I mean... you really can’t.’

‘Why not? Seems only fair I test it with you. If I made a mistake somewhere that gets you killed, I get killed along with you. How’s that for justice?’

‘No… no, you can’t’, Ned was dumbly repeating, still not believing this was really happening right now. All those months of desperate research by his side, all those weeks of planning after Nine flew into their lives, and now he was changing everything on D-Day?

‘Listen, kid. Did you really expect me to invent time travel and not have a go at it myself? Come on.’ 

‘But… but that would mean you’d disappear from this dimension! And—and they need you here!’

‘Obviously. Still won’t stop me. Look, like I said, I just need to have a look. I’ll come back here afterwards, how does that sound?’

‘That’s not—that’s not how it works.’

‘Oh, cause you know more than I do now?’

‘But Nine… we need her… you need her for the—’

‘Re-calculated everything myself. I’m pretty sure we’ll be okay without her.’

‘But—but she said she needed to—’

‘Besides, I can’t wait to see how decrepit I look. 54 goddamn years old... Gosh… I hope I don’t look too much like my dad… _ The horror _…’

‘No, no, listen… There are things… things you…’

Tony suddenly turned and looked at him, instantly getting what he was about to say. ‘What things?’ he asked, suddenly very serious. ‘Look, if you’re talking about consequences of Quantum time travel, let me gently remind you that you and I have already pretty much fucked up this entire timeline already and surprise, we’re still alive. No-one died. And no matter—’

‘You really wanna see yourself at 54? Aren’t you just gonna freak out? I mean, think about it, really, really think about it! This is crazy! What if you pass out? What if— what if your older self can’t handle it? And what if they can’t bring you back? Have you thought about this? You’re crazy!’

‘Old me is clearly far too brilliant not to be able to bring me back, and anyways, I can do it all myself now, remember? That is if we don’t both die in a few minutes…’

‘This is wrong. This is messed up. You can’t—’

‘You’re the one who pulled me into all of this! Remember, champ? I never asked for any of this!’ Tony was shouting now, advancing towards him and making him back up. The genius was towering over him. Ned stupidly felt kind of heartbroken, a flash of one of their movie nights together inexplicably popping into his head at that instant. He thought they had become best buds. He was clearly wrong. They had never been equals. Tony was like a titan, a monster intellect hiding in a young junkie’s body. His eyes were burning him. ‘You come to me from the_ future _ , destroy my whole life in the process because how the fuck could you _ not _ , I get sent Pandora’s Box from future _ me _ , and I’m supposed to let you go without batting an eyelash? I can’t erase that shit! I can’t erase any of it! It’s in my brain now. In my brain’, he repeated, pointing at his own head. ‘There’s no going back for me, how could there be! Do you _ get _ that? _ Do you?’ _

Tony stopped. He seemed to compose himself, stepping away from Ned’s personal space, a bit calmer but still agitated. He ran a hand into his long messy dark hair, the other on his hip and started pacing around the lab like a madman.

‘Everything’s changed now. Your little adventure made me save thirty years of pointless research. The knowledge you gave me, kid, the knowledge… the _science... _Do you have any idea what that entails? I always knew I was meant to do something great… something greater than myself… but I didn’t know why… I didn’t know until I met you… until you came into my life with finally the sense of purpose I knew I’d always needed but couldn’t grasp… and now… now I finally know what I have to do. And what did my other self become? A _superhero?_ _Ironman?_ Who knew I would’ve grown even more childish than I am today... the _irony_…’

Ned was frozen on the spot. Afraid to move, afraid to speak, and almost afraid to breathe. Tony had two Pym particles. He suddenly wondered if they were for both of them, or for Tony only. Because he needed one for the return trip too. 

He wondered if Tony was going to kill him. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a faint light coming from Nine on the floor, but when he had a proper look at her, it was gone.

‘I still need to figure some things out… God, the potential… the experience… experience, experiment, experience… To see myself from the future… this is still so fucking surreal I still can’t fully wrap my head around the idea…’, he said, and his own face was in his hands now. He continued pacing. ‘This is too good, almost poetic… No, not almost, it _ is _ poetic. _ Sublime. _ It’s the ultimate existential slap across the face… It transcends every dream I’ve ever had… God, the possibilities…Can you imagine? I can now just snap my fingers and pop up in ancient Greece, have a chat with Socrates, and then go home. Is that the future of tourism? Good God… But first… I gotta figure some things out... and that process includes meeting with literal little old me.’

‘I… I still don’t th—’

‘I need more. I need to know more and I believe they _ owe _ me more, the _ Avengers _…’ he went on, ignoring Ned. ‘Without me, you would’ve been lost… They needed me... Because why didn’t they come and rescue you themselves, remember? Something must be keeping them from making that trip... Most likely the Pym particles… I can’t figure out what they are and Nine couldn’t either… Something tells me old me didn’t just hide the data… he doesn’t know… he doesn’t know either… that Pym guy, he hates my guts… hated my father before me… hid all his papers, all his research… I need to find him... I need to know more…’

‘My best friend’s in love with you.’

That shut Tony up for a few seconds.

‘Okay…’

‘He’s seventeen, like me. And yeah, he’s a boy.’

‘That Spider-Man guy?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, thanks for the heads up… No offense, but I couldn’t care less.’

‘You love him back.’

That shut him up for longer than a few seconds this time. He just stood there, staring at Ned who held his gaze, and then he turned around without a word and slowly proceeded to type a few lines of code into the main computer, before quietly saying:

‘You’re saying I’m dating a teenager... in my fifties...’

‘Well, you’re not actually dating, but—’

‘Wait, let me get this straight…’, Tony interrupted him while turning around to face him again, lifting both his hands and closing his eyes. ‘How do you happen to know how he feels if he’s not dating him?’ It was confusing the way he kept juggling between pronouns while referring to his older self. This time it was quite clear why he chose ‘he’ though, and Ned noticed right away that from that point on, he never reverted back to ‘I’, effectively separating himself from his older self.

‘He—Peter told me.’

‘Your friend told you?’ Tony repeated before scoffing. ‘Right…’, he said, visibly relieved.

‘You had sex.’

He froze again.

‘Fuck, okay, you know what? I don’t wanna know, let’s just… Fuck… What the fuck! How the fuck d’you know that?’

‘I… I just do.’

‘Wait, didn’t you tell me he had a wife and daughter? Jesus. Shit, why are you telling me this?’ he exclaimed, almost whining. ‘So that’s the hero you were selling me? A creepy old dude cheating on his wife with a seventeen year-old boy? Jesus Christ!’

‘No, I don’t think it’s like that… I think… I think you both… I don’t know…’

‘Let’s just… Don’t. Don’t say ‘you’... _ Shit… _’, Tony lamented while opening a drawer where Ned knew he kept some cigarettes and little bags of weed. ‘What were you gonna say? You think they both what?’

‘I don’t know… All I know is that Peter really loves you.’

‘Him’, Tony corrected.

‘Him, yeah, sorry.’

‘Still not up for it?’ Tony asked, holding out one of the smallest pouches of weed.

Was he really gonna get high right now? Minutes away from their programmed trip? Or had he decided to postpone it?

‘Don’t’, Ned just said.

‘Hell fucking yes I will. I need it now more than ever, shit’, Tony said. Ned watched him sit down at the worktable and start working on his joint. He just stood there until Tony took his first drag.

‘Really, you should try again. One bad trip shouldn’t stop you. Doesn’t mean it can’t feel nice again...’, he told Ned, puffing out a smoke ring and punctuating it with an exaggerated grin.

‘Are you going to kill me? Or... leave me here?’

Once again, Tony froze. He looked at Ned in shock and stared at him with an expression Ned hadn’t expected to ever see on his face. He looked… hurt. Heartbroken even. But then he swallowed and looked away.

‘Wow…’

‘Sorry, I… I just— I don’t know how to feel right now.’

‘You think I’m capable of murder?’

‘No, I don’t know…’

‘Well, yeah, clearly…’

‘You’re a kid’, Ned unexpectedly said. That made Tony chuckle darkly. ‘I mean, you’re brilliant and all but…’

‘Immature’, Tony finished.

‘Yeah… and... self-destructive...’

‘Oh wow, a big word! Where did that come from?’

‘Listen, I don’t think you should go... I have a bad feeling about this.’

‘One hour to go’, Tony said, ignoring him. ‘Won’t change my mind. Wouldn’t miss it for the world’, he chanted.

Ned briefly contemplated the possibility of getting Tony properly stoned and/or drunk and bringing Nine back to life for her to travel to 2024 before them as initially planned. She should be warning the Avengers right now.Unfortunately, he had no freaking idea how to do any of that.

‘No, I’m not gonna kill you’, Tony eventually answered after a moment of silence. He spoke softly, sadly, also shamefully.

Ned regretted the dramatic question. But on the other hand, there _ was _ something wrong about Tony, _ this _ Tony. He hadn’t been the same since he’d had a first look at the data from 2024. It had stirred something in him, something bad. Hunger was the first word that popped into Ned’s mind when he thought about it. There was something wrong with him being exposed to the full extent of his own future brilliance at such a young age. He hadn’t been ready. He still wasn’t. Him being thrown into all that at 24 meant a whole span of his life, both miserable and necessary, was missing and the maturity just wasn’t there. The brilliance, sure, yes. But chaos was what controlled his life. He was missing all the shit his older self had gone through; the steps he couldn’t have now but _ needed _not to go batshit crazy. The Bond villain joke hadn’t worked at all because despite what Tony himself thought, it was too close to the truth now.

‘Feels a little disturbing, you know… you being afraid of that right now...’

‘Sorry.’

‘What’s going through your head?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You’re thinking I’m about to fuck it all up, is that what you’re thinking?’

‘No.’

‘I take that as a yes.’

‘I—'

‘Listen Ned… we got 54 minutes left… I don’t exactly know what you’re thinking of me right now, and what I’m about to tell you, you probably won’t believe, but here it goes: everything’s gonna work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.’

* * *

**Thursday, December 21, 2023, 01:24am.**

It was weird how moods and feelings could change so radically in such a short amount of time. Here he was, in Tony’s arms, passion making them both as breathless as the previous night. He was devouring his mouth, and yet a few hours earlier he had genuinely thought it was over.

They had ignored each other for the better part of the day, or at least had tried to. Peter had gone to his therapy session, had tested EMDR with spectacular effects, bursting into tears for ten minutes in front of Dr. Cortez, then spent some time with May who had gone home around 1pm, and then he had worked side by side with Bruce in Tony’s lab, Tony staying as far away from him as possible the entire time.

There was so much stuff to figure out, to test out, to anticipate. Tony predicted they needed at least another two months of research and experiments before even considering a test run. The research _excited_ Peter. His brain after the therapy session had somehow become sharper than ever. Perhaps it was the leftover adrenaline, perhaps it had to do with the fact that his ego had felt the urge to prove himself once again to Tony, to make him fall in love even more, but he had ended up demonstrating the extent of his brilliant intellect like never before. He had _ dazzled _ Tony, not to mention Bruce, solving problem after problem, coming up with idea after idea to the point that Tony had to excuse himself and leave the lab for an hour.

_ That’s right. You love me. You love me so much. You love me so much you had to leave. You can’t stop loving me just like I can’t stop loving you. _

They had exchanged a single look, just one look in the entire day. It had been around 7pm, right before dinner, in a hallway, and Peter had known. He had _ known. _

‘I knew you wanted me to come. I knew when you looked at me in the hallway... Remember?’

‘How could I not?’

He kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, more passionately than ever before. When he pulled away, Tony had tears streaming down his face.

‘Let me blow you again.’

Tony closed his eyes with a pained expression. He grabbed Peter’s shoulders, preventing him from kissing him again.

‘No. Let’s talk.’

‘I don’t wanna talk.’

‘I do.’

'Look, just because I fainted once after—'

'It's not about that.'

'Yes, it is. It clearly is.'

'Peter...'

Peter sighed. ‘If you’re gonna break up with me, then you’re one hell of a hypocrite. I mean, it’s pretty clear just how much you wanna fuck me right now.’

‘Stop!’ Tony said far more loudly than the whispers they had been sharing until now. ‘Don’t talk like that, don’t... I don’t wanna break up with you, I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, that’s the problem.’

Peter felt himself melt at the dreamy confession, but he didn't lose track of what Tony was really saying.

‘Problem... How is that a problem... It's anything but a problem... It's heaven... heaven..._ honey _…’ The word slipped out of his mouth and it took both of them aback. Tony didn't smile, didn't laugh, didn't say anything at all. He took him in his arms again. ‘Honey…’ Peter boldly repeated. He was listening to Tony's breathing, addicted to the power he had on it. He stood back just enough to breathe in Tony’s face, knowing the older man found it intoxicating. Tony took his jaw in his hand and looked at his mouth as he said his next words.

‘It’ll destroy us. You, me.’

‘Destroy us?’

‘Yes. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’

‘Yeah, I get it, I’m young, you’re old, it’s creepy, it’s wrong.’

‘I wish it were more complicated than that, but it’s really not.’

‘Yeah, totally, it’s totally not.’

‘Peter…’

‘Bye then.’

‘Wait…’

But Peter was already out the window again.

* * *

**Saturday, March 2, 2024, 11:01am.**

It hurt. It hurt in a way it hadn’t hurt the first time. His chest felt like it was being crushed by something heavier and heavier and heavier. He tried to scream but nothing came out. And then it was over. He even landed on his feet, which he thought was unbelievable in itself. He looked to his left first, where Tony used to stand next to him. He was still there, face still covered in the red helmet like his own. And then he heard Peter before he saw him.

‘Oh my god!’

That voice. His voice. Peter's voice. God, he'd missed it so much. He turned and saw him to his right a dozen feet away. He was in Tony Stark’s arms. They were both gaping at them and Tony Stark was gripping him tightly,_ protectively. _Peter had clearly been crying his eyes out.

Tony Stark… the real one… _no_, he corrected himself, _just the older one_.... It was like coming back from a coma, or so he figured. He was back home, finally, but it felt weird; after more than a year away, it felt… foreign.

_God, they look like a couple..._

‘Ned?’ Peter cried out through his tears. ‘Ned?’ he repeated, louder, disbelief making his voice even higher.

Ned’s only response was to unlatch the lock on his helmet and lift it over his head to reveal his own face. He didn’t move, and Peter suddenly strode towards him and almost knocked him over as he grabbed him in a tight embrace. 

‘Oh thank God, we all thought—’

A small earthquake made Ned start. Bom. Bom. Bom. Bom. He broke the hug, looking at Peter with frightened eyes but Peter was smiling, almost laughing.

‘Don’t worry, it’s just Bruce.’ He suddenly looked happy, happier than Ned had ever seen him even as his eyes were still red and his face still covered in tears. In an instant, the Hulk was here, in that modern lab they had landed in, appearing from the door behind Tony, young Tony, who hadn’t moved at all. He was staring at Tony Stark, Ned realized, at his older self. He knew he was staring at him even though no-one could see his face. Tony Stark was staring back. 

_ Oh boy... _

‘Oh my god! It worked? It actually worked? Is that Ned? But, wait—who the hell’s that other guy?’ the Hulk shouted, out of breath.

‘Someone who shouldn’t be here.’

He heard the distinct wheeze of the Iron Man weapon, but it wasn't Iron Man. It was another guy. War Machine. He didn’t have his suit on, only one of the legendary laser weapons strapped around his hand and extended towards Tony. He was aiming at him.

‘Hey, other guy! Slowly turn around, take your helmet off and put your hands up! No tricks!’ he slowly shouted at Tony. Tony didn’t move right away and when he did, Ned could almost feel an invisible thread joining the two Tony Starks snapping as he turned, forced to look away from his older self.

‘That’s right, slowly’, War Machine commanded.

When Tony took his helmet off, the famous colonel’s face fell. For a second, Ned even thought he was going to faint.

‘What the—’ the Hulk started.

‘Oh God’, War Machine said.

‘I knew it’, another man wearing a ridiculous red cape added, sounding both incredibly smug and fed up.

Someone let out a sort of half gasp, half moan. It was Scarlet Witch who had appeared behind War Machine and the cape-wearing guy. God, that guy had an icy stare... Ned instantly knew he was powerful, very powerful. _ Probably that Doctor Strange guy who did yoga to see the future… _, he thought, remembering Peter’s crazy tale of magic stones and wizards on an alien planet.

A tense silence followed, with young Tony still not turning around to face Peter and his older self. Surprisingly or unsurprisingly—Ned couldn't really tell—, it was Tony Stark himself who broke it, in a typical Tony Stark way.

‘Please don’t be younger me, please don’t be younger me…’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to my faithful readers for sticking in with me through this endless adventure! ♥
> 
> You may wonder why Nine appeared at the beginning of the chapter with the other drones in the hangar, since it apparently never left 1995. It's not a mistake from my part. It'll be explained in chapter 31. ;-)
> 
> Edit: oh shit, sorry for the first dozen of readers of this chapter, but I had copied the wrong version of it initially, and it changes a LOT of things for our favorite couple. It's now fixed. 
> 
> Edit 2: other mistakes spotted, other mistakes now fixed. Yay.
> 
> Previous chapters 28 and 29 edited on 02.29.20.


	31. Ebb and Flow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **DISCLAIMER FOR OVERSENSITIVE PEOPLE **
> 
> **\-- BIG SPOILER AHEAD --**
> 
> If you're a sensitive person who doesn't react well to tragic storylines, I urge you to stop reading my story. I have decided upon a « false ending » that will be difficult to read. The ultimate ending will be both happy and sad.
> 
> **\-- END OF SPOILER --**

They came and went like the tide. 

First, waves after waves of unquenchable lust would gradually submerge him until he couldn’t breathe anymore, until he couldn’t think, until he couldn’t help but take what Peter was so unabashedly offering him. He would let himself drown in pleasure he never knew existed, _ him, _ the playboy billionaire… 

Then, sunrise revealed the sediments of shame. He withdrew, Peter withdrew, they would hardly speak, escaping each other as best they could within the confines of the facility, until they were hit again, caught in another wave, unable to break free, _ unwilling _ to break free, helpless and wild with loose abandon. 

The shame became too much when she found out.

The evening before the launch, he swallowed three sleeping pills in a desperate attempt to escape the memories. 

To escape _himself. _

He slept for four hours.

* * *

_ ‘I’m sorry.’ _

‘Daddy! Daddy! _ Daddy! _’ 

Morgan… She was above him, shaking him as hard as she could.

_ Why tonight? Why now, after all this time? _

‘Hey... hey, bunny… I’m okay, don’t worry... nightmare…’

Morgan’s eyes were wide, but at least she wasn’t crying. Unlike him. 

‘Was it the sea monster?’

‘Yeah... yeah… sea monster… but… it had three heads.’

Morgan loudly gasped at that. ‘Three _ heads? _’

‘Yeah… and each head… was covered with a pink hat… and it spoke in Mrs. Brown’s voice and… and...’, he fake-sobbed despite his real tears, ‘and it kept shouting at me… _ you skipped fifteen again! You skipped fifteen! _’

Morgan stared at him for a moment, visibly trying to picture the unlikely sea monster with her kindergarten teacher’s voice. 

‘No…’ she finally replied, dragging the word as she started giggling.

‘Hey, what are you laughing at, that was really scary!’ She giggled louder just as he noticed Pepper standing in the doorway. ‘Hey…’, he acknowledged her, avoiding her worried eyes. ‘Sorry, had a _ horrible _ nightmare; you don’t wanna hear it…’ He mock-shuddered, earning another little laugh from Morgan who wrapped her small arms around his neck, kissed his cheek and then spoke against his face.

‘Daddy dreamed about the sea monster.’

‘The sea monster? Oooh…’ Pepper went along, mock-hissing at the news.

‘Yeah… tough stuff…’ Tony said.

‘Well, even grown-ups have nightmares…’, Pepper commented. 

‘Even you, mommy?’

‘Even me.’

‘About the sea monster?’

‘Well… I had a dream about a shark once.’

‘Was it eating you?’ Morgan asked, clearly very interested.

‘It tried to, but I woke up before it could.’

‘Just like me! I escaped with daddy’s M52 repulsors right when it was about to eat me... But anyways, it doesn’t matter since dreams aren’t real’, Morgan finished in her tiny sassy voice while brushing a strand of her long hair out of her face.

‘I know, sweetie, I know. Come on, let’s all get back to sleep.’

‘I can sleep with you if you want’, Morgan whispered to her father, still nuzzled against his prickly face. ‘I can bring my flashlight to keep the bad dreams away.’

‘Thanks Maguna, but I’d rather not. You know how I move a lot when I sleep. Come on, go back to bed before Santa skips our house.’

That prompted Morgan to pull away wearing her outraged face that he loved so much, tilting it sideways and frowning at him in an adorable way. ‘Why would he skip our house?’

‘Well,_ lights on _ …’, he replied with wide eyes and lingering on the words in his best _ duh _ tone. ‘...people _ talking _ … _ awake... _’

Morgan seemed to consider the arguments for a moment, then dead-panned: ‘Good thing he’s not real, then.’

‘Hey!’ Tony exclaimed. ‘Don’t ruin my dreams!’

His bedroom was next to hers now—one of their former guest rooms. Pepper had her eyes to the floor. She and Tony hadn’t slept together for almost six months now. She smiled, even laughed a little at their cute little banter, but a sudden surge of heartbreak filled her eyes with tears. Letting go of her husband without hurting her daughter too much had been one of the greatest challenges of her life. Letting go of her deep love for him was not a challenge at all. It was something she didn’t even try to do.

She managed to control herself but before she left the bedroom with Morgan, Tony caught a glimpse of her wet gaze. They nodded at each other, a silent, sympathetic exchange, and then she followed their daughter, closing the door behind her. 

Back in September, Tony had told her again, that he would always love her. She had responded with a sad smile and, later that night, had mustered the courage to ask him the question that definitely made things clear between them.

‘You say you love me… but you’re not in love with me, are you?’

He had not replied at all, his pained silence all she had needed to hear.

All in all, since that fateful summer, there had been tough moments, sure, but so far, she thought they were all doing okay. They had told Morgan as soon as possible, with appropriate words and reassurances, and Tony had never really left the house, postponing his inevitable move as much as possible for his Maguna. It was a smooth, amicable separation, on the surface at least. Pepper wasn’t ready for him to go, and his guilt-ridden heart felt even heavier at the thought of finally doing it.

They had a perfect Christmas morning given the circumstances. Morgan loudly loved every second of it, blissfully unaware of the carefully hidden truth: her parents weren’t okay. 

Pepper had stopped trying to have any meaningful conversations with him. She would speak with Happy and Rhodey instead, long phone calls in her study, her muffled voice stressing him out the few times he randomly caught her. It wasn’t hard to instantly get what she was talking about; he would only catch a few words, but they were more than enough – ‘adjusting’ or ‘divorce’, or the one that always made him run away: _ ‘the kid’. _

He could barely sleep. Since that morning he had seen him faint, it had gotten worse. Happy gave him some sleeping pills, conjuring up old memories, and it led him to another discovery: sleeping pills didn’t have any effect on him anymore. At all. Just like Cap.

_ Just like Peter. _

‘So... you’re like him now…’, Happy mumbled to him three days after Christmas. ‘Some sort of… _ mutant _.’

They were in the compound, in an empty conference room right after a long debriefing session with a dozen government officials on the subject of their crazy little time heist—as piss ant would say—as well as the worrying absence of news from the heavily armed fugitives. Tony was the only one who hadn’t left the room, not even bothering to get up. He had stayed at the large empty table waiting for one of their “personal assistants” to bring him coffee, only to see Happy walk in with the cup instead.

‘Mutant? I like the sound of it’, he smirked behind his cup.

‘You should definitely talk to–’

‘Makes me even cooler.’

‘You should talk to–’

‘Maybe I should change my name to Iron Superman. What d’you think? A tad too cheesy?’

With an eye roll, Happy gave up on what he was about to say, then asked: ‘How’s that even possible? Do you have any idea what’s actually going on inside your own body?’

The genius didn’t reply at first, ready to shield himself with silence as he so often did these days. He hated it, being shoved personal questions in the face like that when he hadn’t prepared, and yet he had always found the exercise it inevitably demanded to be a source of paradoxical pleasure, some sort of thrill that came with the old defense mechanisms he had picked up as a teenager to protect himself from aggressive journalism and then from everything and everyone else, sharpening his wit and asserting his dominance in a way money never could. He glared at Happy reproachfully as he was standing there like a cop next to the table, demanding an answer, not sitting down, looming above him like his—

He finished his coffee in one gulp, put the cup down and sighed, absent-mindedly stroking his freshly groomed beard. What was the point? He didn’t want to play anymore. He felt tired, so fucking tired of everything and most of all himself. He spoke in a deeper voice than usual—a weary voice.

‘Whatever they did to me started a diffuse self-healing process throughout my body that regenerates lost cells and reacts to any signs of damage or alteration. I guess sleeping pills—’ he stopped short, expression suddenly stuck. Happy frowned even more and watched as his former boss’s eyes went wide in a sudden show of fearful realization; his own face fell, fear creeping up his spine.

‘What… what is it...’, he asked, stepping closer. ‘Tony?’ he pressed on when he got no answer.

‘Shit…’ Tony muttered.

‘What is it?’ Happy repeated, louder.

‘Damn…’

‘Tony, will you—’

‘Alcohol.’

‘What?’

‘I probably can’t get drunk anymore.’

Happy stared at him, Tony stared back, and after a second the billionaire added, eyes glinting, clearly repressing a laugh: ‘You need to put me back on suicide watch, buddy. This is the tragedy of my life right there.’

There was a beat. And then Happy spat: ‘You asshole! You scared the shit out of me!’

Tony finally let himself chuckle. ‘Honestly, I don’t know how I’m gonna survive this… Although, I have to admit, this is kind of... _ poetic _… makes you think about—’

‘I swear to God, don’t pull another one like that on me ever again, _ Jesus!’ _

‘So anyway, my whole body is under constant regeneration, and that means it will systematically reject anything that tries to mess with it. Well, it’s a tad more complex than that, but you get the gist.’

‘Jerk…’ 

The former bodyguard started slowly pacing around the large table of the empty conference room. After a moment he blurted out: ‘How young are you gonna get?’ 

Even if he had been expecting the question this time, it still made Tony’s throat tight. He shrugged, silent. 

‘This is really, _ really _ weird’, Happy uselessly commented. ‘You don’t really look that much younger yet, but it shows... Yeah, it’s starting to show… You look… I’d say… in your mid forties now. So you’ve won ten years in what… eight months? What’s next?’ Tony didn’t reply, and so he tried again to make his point in a louder voice. ‘ _ That’s _ why you should—’

‘Oh, give me a break!’ Tony nearly shouted.

‘No’, Happy struck back. ‘Talk to her. Let her examine you! Run some tests!’

‘Or what?’

‘God… What makes it so hard? You should’ve done it _ months _ ago! What are you so afraid of? You’re getting young again, you should be happy about it!’ It was Tony’s turn to snort. ‘What? Isn’t it everyone’s dream when they get to a certain age?’

‘Yeah, I’m stoked, gonna start strutting about smoking pot again to celebrate.’

‘You’ve never stopped strutting about.’

‘Excuse me?’ Tony exclaimed in mock outrage.

‘Look, I know there’s something about it that’s… that’s…’

‘Wrong. Unnatural.’

‘True. I mean, obviously, it’s freaking you out, and, to tell you the truth, it’s freaking _ me _ out, but...’

‘Listen, buddy, let’s end the conversation here, alright?’

‘Please, just get an appointment. Hell, what am I saying, you don’t even need to schedule anything, she’s right here! In the compound, ready to work! Just—just go. Tony, please.’

He didn’t. 

Peter wasn’t here. Rhodey informed him that he had decided at the last moment to stay with his aunt for another week, prolonging his much-deserved vacation in what was now their penthouse in Little Italy. He wondered which bedroom he had chosen. Most likely the blue one with that beautiful ink wash drawing some Chinese businessman had given him so many years ago. He pictured Peter lying on the large white bed while absent-mindedly staring at it.

Bruce wasn’t coming back for another week either and when Rhodey told him the reason why, he nearly choked on a cereal bar. 

‘He’s staying with his girlfriend in Long Island’, his old friend matter-of-factly announced, the slightest spark of amusement in his eyes as it provoked the expected reaction from Tony.

‘Wow’, he croaked after a few coughs.

‘Yeah, wow. She’s a renowned biologist by the way.’

‘Makes sense.’

‘I guess it does. She’s pretty cute too. Oh, and Strange is back, said the Wakandans will soon be as well, with a slight delay, but not Fury and his crew.’

‘Okay.’

He vaguely wondered if any of them had heard any news from Point Break, Blue Meanie or Sailor Moon, but come to think of it, he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know why Fury was not coming back either. In fact, he didn’t want to hear anything about space, the mere thought of alien civilizations making him sick. Nothing really new here…

_ But they’re part of you now... and that makes you part of them. _

A deep chill ran up his spine, but for now at least, he was safe; Strange was “resting” after his long interstellar voyage, and not having to stand his cold gaze was a relief. He didn’t have the energy to confront the condescending jerk right now, even to tease him.

He worked alone in his lab for the few remaining days before the little New Year’s Eve party Wanda insisted on organizing, flying to work every day and always coming back before the early dusk to spend time with Morgan. He relished the daily commutes, flying alone in his suit over wet fields, glinting rivers and bustling cities, occasionally putting up some Massive Attack songs to make them even more meditative. 

The experimental pills worked like a charm the first nights, getting him to almost instantly fall asleep, but then they became less and less efficient. He took stronger doses. After a few days, it became clear that his body systematically managed to annul their effects, adjusting to the new doses every single time. Just how powerful was that treatment? What were its limits? Stubborn, he didn’t try to seek any answers. He resolved to only take the pills when he truly felt beyond exhausted. It later turned out to be every five or six days. Spacing out the doses helped a little.

Peter didn’t contact him at all. No call, no text, nothing, not even for Christmas, but after all, neither did he. 

He had thought of a myriad of presents he could buy him. In the end, a twenty-dollar book—_ that _book—had seemed the best candidate. But he couldn’t bring himself to give it to him. And he couldn’t, shouldn’t, mustn’t.

It was all for the best.

He had been weak, so fucking weak.

They were both paying the price of that weakness now.

Peter hadn’t left him, he knew he hadn’t—getting away from him that night had been a whim on his part and he was sulking now—but Tony knew it was an opportunity he had to catch; an opportunity to make this right.

To stop this madness for good.

_ But he’ll be back. God, he’ll be back… _

He felt lost. Lost, ashamed and bereft. Bereft of a dream. But who was depriving him of it? Himself or society? The question gave him headaches.

Days flew by pretty quickly and before he knew it, it was the last day of the year 2023, and what a fucking year that one was. A strangely strong sense of wistful nostalgia hit him that morning as he was flying over Virginia, and he even shed a few tears, prompting Friday to ask him if he needed some assistance.

He only attended the party because he couldn’t bear the silence between them, and because, quite simply, he needed to see him. He silently prayed he would show up. He did, with his aunt.

_ Peter… _

Both of them had gotten all decked out for the occasion, much like everyone else, and when he saw him enter the large room in a neatly tailored navy tuxedo, his hair freshly cut and carefully groomed, he began to profusely sweat under the heavy wool of his own three-piece suit. His plan to come up to him and break the silence with a mechanical engineering problem came flying out the window. His chest felt all fuzzy and tight like a lovestruck teenager’s. He wondered if the treatment had anything to do with his body reacting like that. The smooth jazz music made him want to throw himself off the balcony. 

And so he blatantly ignored Peter for the entire night. 

At least, he tried to.

A minute or so after his much-remarked entrance, their eyes met. It didn’t last more than the fraction of a second, but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity down his already painful chest. It didn’t happen again, but resisting the urge to cast quick glances over at him during the entire party felt like trying not to scratch a particularly vicious itch. He lost control a few times. He had never seen him in a tuxedo before. In fact, he had never seen him this smartly dressed. It made him look older, wiser, despite his bow tie which was slightly askew—adorably so… oh, how he craved to simply walk over and adjust it, before walking away without a single word! He had to swallow a whine, taking a big gulp of alcohol-free sangria instead. His aunt remained glued to him. He renamed her Aunt Leech in his head.

He felt like a video game character, multiplying moves to survive, avoiding the Wakandan girl like the plague, slaloming his way between friends who knew and others who didn’t, continuously slamming down emerging comments about their relationship with quick-witted quips. Among the still oblivious ones was Barton. The famous marksman had finally re-emerged after months of post-blip domestic bliss, and he thankfully drew a lot of attention to himself with hilarious stories about his kids. 

It was almost eleven now. He felt as if inside of a sauna and asked Friday to turn the heat down. At one point, as everyone laughed at a joke he hadn’t even heard—including Dr. Cortez who kept looking at him, _ goddammit _— he met Happy’s eyes, jarringly serious amongst the other merry ones, and quickly turned around to escape the inevitable comment.

How did he look? Did he look okay? Was he hiding his feelings as well as he thought he was?

Peter was a few feet away, chatting with Wanda, Bruce and—_ good God _—his new petite girlfriend. He had a glass of lemonade in his hand and Aunt Leech was still by his side with… was that her third margarita? Jeez!

_ For the love of God control yourself and stay the fuck away from those drinks. _

Peter was _ gorgeous. _

As he was saying hello to a starstruck couple he vaguely recognized from the aeronautics team, he saw Cortez approaching him out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly, he didn’t know what to do. The unbearably sharp and obviously smitten young latina was politely smiling next to a smug-looking Happy—_ harassing jerk… _

‘Oh, so you’re stalking me now’, he threw at her.

‘Call it however you like, Mr. Stark, it won’t change the fact that you do need special medical attention, and that—’

‘Well the thing is, I don’t, not anymore. Everything’s working out pretty much by itself for me now, so thanks but no thanks.’

‘You know what I mean by special medical attention.’

‘Sex?’ he deadpanned, then gleefully watching as her eyes dropped and her mouth twitched, words she had been about to say dying in her throat.

‘Oh my god, Tony! Control yourself, _ Jesus! _’ Happy hissed, mortified.

Dr. Cortez looked even more flustered than usual now. Tony counted that as a win. ‘I apologize, doc, but you gotta admit, that was pretty funny.’

‘So…’ she said, clearing her throat and readjusting her glasses, ‘…will you finally let me have a look at you?’

‘Okay, you’re doing this on purpose’, he pounced on the new double entendre. He turned to Happy who was in the middle of yet another dramatic eyeroll, using his entire body now. ‘She’s totally doing it on purpose, right?’

‘I need to run some blood tests first’, she went on, ignoring him this time. ‘I need sufficient data to be able to figure out exactly what they’ve done to you, which may allow me to predict the final outcome of the treatment.’

‘Full recovery. Health and strength, that’s what they said. What more do you need to know?’

‘Your body is undergoing an unknown transformative process which seems to be fully altering it and you don’t want to know the exact nature of said process?’

‘Wanna know when you’re gonna die? How? No, you don’t. Same thing.’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘It really isn’t.’

‘This is a far-fetched analogy. We need to keep up with your evolving medical condition, that’s it; you need to stay informed about your own health. This is not about—’

‘Listen, I’ll reach out to you when I feel like it, how does that sound?’

‘Irresponsible’, she said to his face with surprising boldness. Oh, how he would have banged her to the moon and back a few decades earlier…

‘Been called that all my life…_ irresponsible _. Turned out pretty well in the end, don’t you think?’

‘Easy thing to say when you were pretty much born a billionaire.’

‘Touché.’

‘Seriously, you need to—’

‘No. I don’t need to know anything right now. I know enough already. What I need is to focus on time travel research. The rest can wait.’

‘Until when? Allowing me to simply draw a few blood samples will take you a minute at the most. What are you so afraid of?’

‘Afraid?’ he scoffed. That was when Happy tried to gesture something to him. He paid no attention. ‘Well, you know what? Maybe I am. But that’s my—‘

‘May Parker!’, Happy blurted out of the blue. 

* * *

She hadn’t been expecting it all, but May had a wonderful time. Initially both reluctant and unable to let herself unwind, it was Peter who insisted she got all dolled up and have fun as much as she could despite all the shit they were still going through. He hardly left her side during the whole party, and together they chatted and laughed with super people, geniuses, spies and other important men and women who were surprisingly nice and full of crazy anecdotes. A girl from Wakanda—a scientist—was talking to a group of other guests when Peter introduced them, his eyes filled with respect and happiness at seeing her here, both feelings clearly returned by Shuri, since that was her name. May watched them as they exchanged a few words, wondering if there was something there. But then the atmosphere shifted. Shuri began to relate her journey throughout the galaxy to their fascinated little group. Peter tried to hide his discomfort but she knew him well enough to recognize the signs. She spotted another group with Bruce in it and proceeded to save her nephew from the ghosts of his past threatening to resurface. She pulled at his arm and politely excused them both—they “had to greet a friend”. Peter whispered quick thanks in her ear.

After her second cocktail, she had sparks in her eyes and started to laugh a little too loudly at Bruce’s jokes. His biologist girlfriend Clara was a delight as well, and she tried her best not to blatantly stare at the unlikely couple, thinking they looked impossibly cute together despite or maybe because of their shocking size difference. She faintly wondered how sex could work between them while grabbing her third margarita. It made her giggle.

‘May… do you really think this is a good idea?’ came Peter’s little worried voice. He tried to gently take the glass away from her. She stretched her arm away by instinct before reconsidering.

‘Oh sweetie, you’re right, I’m sorry, I don’t want to embarrass you…’

‘No, no, no, you’re not—that’s not what I—’ he stumbled on his words before he looked back at her and sighed. ‘You know what, go ahead.’

‘What? Really? But you just said—’

‘No, I mean it, it’s not like you often… I mean, I told you to enjoy yourself. Don’t… Don’t stop yourself from having fun because of me.’

‘Why, thanks’, she said, tilting her chin upwards with a pretty smile before taking a sip. ‘God, this is really something. And you know what? You were right, this is the best time I’ve had since…’ she stopped herself, not finishing her sentence. ‘Anyways, I’m having fun thanks to you, sweetie. And don’t worry for me, it’s not like I’m supposed to drive us home afterwards.’ She took yet another sip, savoring it. ‘God, this reminds me of my college years… I used to be a bartender, you know? And a part-time dancer too... same place… I was a bit wild back then…’, she added, voice dropping slightly. ‘Have I ever told you about that time I—’

‘Let’s—let’s go talk to Wanda, she’s alone over there’, Peter interrupted her, unwilling to hear anything more about her wild years than the slightly disturbing bits he already knew. Unfortunately, joining a drunk Wanda was not the best idea to prevent that from happening. When Bruce and his new girlfriend joined them, they became the loudest group of the party, by far.

She had already shared two juicy anecdotes about her youth when she noticed her nephew cautiously throwing a glance towards his mentor. The playboy billionaire was currently talking to Happy and a woman she didn’t know, giving off an aura of pure charisma even with his back to them, and she realized she had not even said hello to him yet. Feeling a bit rude albeit pleasantly tipsy, she excused herself before simply walking straight towards him. She saw Happy say her name with a weird look on his face before she tapped the powerful man’s shoulder to make him turn around. The great Tony Stark clearly flinched from her touch. Weird. She remained completely oblivious to the sudden paleness on her nephew’s face as he watched the whole exchange from afar.

‘Hey!’ she exclaimed with a bright smile. Tony Stark didn’t turn around right away. Instead, he looked at the floor for a couple of seconds. Maybe it was the alcohol but May thought that that little pause was weird too. And had his breath stuttered or had she imagined it? But then he did turn around and seemed his usual self—the oh-so-charming and filthy rich misogynistic jerk who had become Peter’s new father figure. She had read far too much about him, far, _ far _ too much, ever since that day he had barged into their lives. But he was a different man now, she had to keep reminding herself. And he was, after all, the pure genius who had saved them all.

‘Oh, Mrs. Parker! Hi! Enjoying the cocktails?’ he said too loudly, not making eye contact through his tinted glasses.

‘I am, thanks!’ she replied, half-laughing. ‘I just realized I haven’t said hello, so… hello.’

‘Hello, hello’, he said to his feet. 

Another weird pause. Suddenly, she thought _ what the hell! _ and took a decision on the spot.

‘I—you know what? Can I have a word with you? In private? I mean, if you’re not busy right now. I don’t want to interrupt any—’

‘Sure!’ he interrupted her, abruptly straightening up with a little bounce, looking ahead at the wall now, slightly rocking on his heels, his hands deep in his pockets. Happy gave her a bewildered look. She shrugged, her eyes glinting, and then she took the billionaire’s arm without thinking, pulling him away. She felt him resist a little. He was tense, even quite hard under her touch, and she belatedly realized that this was his prosthetic arm. She let go of him and her eyes went down. She inspected his hand and couldn’t help but feel it in her own, alcohol loosening her inhibitions.

‘Wow… it looks... so _ real _...’

‘But doesn’t quite feel real, I know. So, what’s wrong?’ His tone was impatient. He even sounded pissed off.

‘Wrong? What? What are you talking about?’

‘Yeah, obviously something’s wrong, otherwise you would’ve spoken to me in front of Happy.’

‘There... was somebody else...’

‘So it’s private.’

She looked at him, surprised at the way his breaths were coming out short and jerky.

‘Yeah, I mean… I guess. I just… I wanted to apologize.’

‘Apolo—’ He didn’t finish the word, too stunned to fully form it.

‘Yes. Apologize. You see, I have a confession to make’, she almost whispered in a comical way. She studied his reaction. He truly was a very handsome man, with his pretty brown eyes behind expensive glasses, perfect hair and carefully groomed moustache, goatee and beard... She felt amused at his bewilderment and took another sip of her margarita before dropping the truth. ‘I never really liked you. Quite the opposite in fact. You being Peter’s mentor… I must admit I had a hard time stomaching the whole… idea of it… as if you were gonna... _ taint _ him or something.’ She vaguely agitated her free hand with those words, laughing a little in the process. ‘I mean, no offense, but the stories I’ve read about you… and the fact that you’re… _ you _ … But then I understood: you’re a good man! You always were underneath all that… _ glamor _ . Yeah, let’s just call it glamor… and not only that, you’re a great scientist! A great leader... a great teacher... a _ hero _ ! I mean, you saved everybody, including _ me _, and obviously including my son—nephew, sorry, I sometimes confuse the two, I’ve had him for so long…’

‘And three margaritas.’

‘And three marga—what? Hang on, how d’you know that?’ she asked, taking a step back, mirth coloring her voice and eyes.

‘I have supersight.’

‘What? What does that mean?’ She asked, laughing. ‘No, really? Is it the glasses?’

‘No. Happy told me.’

She laughed at that too. ‘Well, that makes more sense. 

‘By the way, are you two still… whatever it is you were?’

‘We’re friends’, she quickly clarified right after another sip.

‘Friends?’

‘Yes. Friends.’

‘With benefits.’

It took her a few seconds to recover from that comment. ‘Wow, that was… really inappropriate’, she replied.

‘You’re drunk; why bother with civility?’

She snorted, still amused, but still determined to go on. ‘So anyways, I wanted to thank you. God, have I ever even thanked you? For what you did? For saving him? Oh my god, I feel so ashamed! I should’ve given you a call or sent you a card or—’

‘Please god, no, I hate cards. And actually, I think you did thank me, via Happy back in June if I recall correctly.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘And no need to thank me, really. Your nephew saved my life more times than I can count, and there’s hardly anything I can teach him at this point. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back to Dr. Cortez; top secret superhero stuff…’

And with a quirky tilt of his body that somehow reminded May of a wink, he was gone. 

Her smile didn’t fade right away. Her sluggish brain cells did not immediately put two and two together. After a moment however, as Wanda was enthusiastically debating with Rhodey on the best way to cook the perfect cheesecake, her mind slowly began to reel. Even through her pleasant margarita-infused haze she slowly convinced herself that the way he had spoken to her indicated that something was wrong. He had spoken too fast, faster than usual, even sounding out of breath. He had looked pale, almost sick, sweating, visibly too hot under his tweed suit. He had been unable to maintain eye contact for more than a second, as if looking her in the eye too long would have cost him something. During her little monologue, she had been able to catch tiny glimpses at the soul underneath all those layers of wit and charisma. He had seemed… _ hurt _, for a lack of a better word; hurt and something else she couldn’t pinpoint. Moments later, she scanned the room for him, wanting to see him again for whatever confirmation she was looking for. He was nowhere to be seen. She checked in every corner, behind every person, but yes, he had clearly left the room. What if—

‘What was that about?’ came Happy’s voice to her left.

‘What? Oh, I… we simply had a little chat.’

‘A little chat?’

‘I wanted to apologize for having doubted him. He’s a great mentor for Peter.’

Happy marked a pause. That discomfort… that weirdness… Her mind conjured up the exact same look in Peter’s eyes a few minutes before.

_ As he had been looking at Tony Stark. _

Happy saw it: something dawning on her. He swiftly reacted, blurting out: ‘You do know his wife’s filing for divorce, right? He’s a bit… shaken by the whole process…’

It was a simple way to put the fire out and it seemed to work. May gasped in surprise at the unexpected piece of news, and then it was all she could talk about for the rest of the night, whispering questions and comments to poor Happy who tried his best to hide his distress and remorse. Little did he know that she had not even been close to discovering the truth at that moment, and that his little trick, instead of stirring her away from it, would turn out to be the very trigger to her horrifying epiphany.

* * *

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and damn, he wasn’t prepared. He wasn’t prepared at all. His pulse quickened in an instant. May Parker looked quite hot in her emerald cocktail dress. It had a nice cleavage. He tried to focus on it during their small exchange, to no avail. Soon, he felt nauseous, barely able to maintain appearances, taking her every word like a dart to the heart. He felt his control slip away, struggling not to shake from the suffocating guilt, his knees weak, his hands clammy, cold sweat forming on his forehead. He waited a little before walking out on one of the long balconies running along the main building of the compound. The freezing night air did him some good.

‘Fri, alert me if anybody comes out here.’

‘Sure thing, boss.’

He walked up to the ledge, gripped it with both hands and hunched over, facing the concrete floor and breathing deeply for a minute or so. Then, he straightened up, reached into an inner pocket of his suit jacket, and retrieved a small metal box.

It was something he hadn’t done for years, smoking. He ran his fingers along the soft brown length of an expensive cigar before bringing it under his nose, smelling it with his eyes shut. He could actually remember the last time he had smoked a cigar pretty well. A sad little smile formed on his lips. When he lit it up with his father’s lighter and took his first draw, the taste and feeling of it brought him back to that day in a visceral, Proustian way—the rain snaking along the windows of his office in Stark Tower, Pepper and he fighting over a stupid agreement with a Swiss bank, his bare feet on his desk, too cold, defying her in his silk pajamas, puffing the smoke to her face like a brat… They had fucked like rabbits, and he had made her laugh uncontrollably afterwards, her blond bun all messed up against the cold marble floor. He closed his eyes and got lost in the memory, suddenly feeling very old—much older than he looked now, much older than that body which wasn’t really his anymore.

Fuck, it felt so good. Thank god for his earlier hunch that he would need a cigar tonight. Alcohol had been out of the question. He would have spilled something or worse.

After a few blissful minutes alone in the freezing air, Friday warned him someone was coming. Barton. Seconds later, he heard steps behind him.

‘My, oh my... Cuban, I guess?’

He didn’t even turn around. He just hummed in approval, staring at the lights of the party shimmering in the water of the lake, at the dark lawn stretching alongside it with patches of snow here and there that hadn’t thawed even after two weeks of clear weather.

‘How’s family?’ his old friend asked in a wary tone. _ He knows about me and Pepper _, Tony concluded.

‘Good. Yours?’

‘Out of control but great.’

Tony smirked. He’d heard some of his stories. Barton rested his elbows against the ledge next to him and they both beheld the peaceful night, not saying a word for a while, muffled music and laughter from the party a soothing background noise to their respective thoughts.

‘Man… this really feels like the old one…’, Barton eventually said. ‘the lake, the forest… brings back painful memories…’

‘Mmhh’, Tony agreed. ‘Cigar?’ he offered, once again reaching into his suit jacket for the small metal box.

Barton let out a grunt, refusing at first, but then paused and replied: ‘Hey, you know what? Why not? Wife’s not around to kick my ass for it anyway… give me...’

Tony happily did, smiling around his own cigar. Barton took one directly from the box and then bent over for Tony to light it up for him. He sucked in once, letting out the odorous smoke with an appreciative frown. After another drag, a deep contemplative moan left his lips before he turned to look Tony in the eye and said:

‘So what’s up with you and Spider-Boy?’

He couldn’t get used to the pain, not entirely, and he was tired, so very tired, or maybe just jaded at this point. He probably should have known better, but he didn’t hesitate. He answered him on the spot, his voice tinted with bitter humor.

‘We’re in love. We had a thing for a little while but we kind of broke up a week ago.’

Barton didn’t move an inch for several long seconds, then started laughing.

‘Wow’, he chuckled around the word. ‘That’s probably the most twisted joke you’ve ever cracked, man, and that’s saying something.’

‘Not a joke. You can go and ask Rhodey or Bruce if you want, but please keep your voice down when you start freaking out, alright? His aunt doesn’t know yet and he should be the one to break the wonderful news to her. Thanks again. Oh, and it was nice being your friend for a while. So long, Legolas.’

When there was no response, he finally turned and looked at his friend. His face said it all. Disbelief, confusion, then shock and denial. 

‘You gotta be shitting me…’

‘Nope.’

‘No…’

‘Yep.’

‘Don’t tell me this is actually true…’

‘Sorry, buddy.’

Barton eyed him carefully, desperately seeking any sign that his old friend was kidding, that this was some kind of prank, but what he found instead was confirmation—confirmation through the shame and sadness in Tony’s fickle gaze. Something clicked in his own eyes.

‘Oh my god… you—you can’t possibly have—you—’

‘Remember, his aunt doesn’t know, so keep it down.’

‘Keep it down?’ Barton sputtered, far too loudly.

‘Shh!’

‘You went out with a _ teenager? _With the kid that you—’

‘Nah, we didn’t really _ date _, we just had sex a couple of times. Or three to be more specific, depends on how you count.’

‘_ Jesus! _Tell me you’re joking!’

‘_ Tony _’, he corrected.

‘Tell me you’re joking _ right now _.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Oh my god…’

‘Sorry.’

‘This is— you’re— you— with your— Peter Parker? _ Peter Parker? _’

‘That would be his name, yeah.’

‘What the fuck?’

‘Yeah…’

‘You—you—you fucking pervert!’

‘Okay. Fair enough.’

‘I’m out of here… what the actual _ fuck!’ _

‘Bye! Don’t send me any cards, I hate them!’

He didn’t care anymore. He didn’t move. Barton stormed to the nearest door, but then stopped. Tony waited for another insult, he could hear him seething, but his now ex-friend simply swore again before leaving him alone. 

Tony closed his eyes, listening to the quiet voices from the party, waiting for louder ones to replace them, for Barton’s to cut into the joyful atmosphere, for the music to stop. He thought about May Parker and a shiver ran down his spine. He had gone outside without his coat, and the warm wool of his winter three-piece suit suddenly wasn’t enough. He braced himself for the inevitable slap in the face, waited for her screams, but they never came. People were still chatting and laughing over the music. He continued to slowly savor his cigar trying to focus on the still fresh memory of Morgan unwrapping her fluffy seal pillow, but his mind kept drifting… Drifting towards wide brown eyes, towards sad blue ones, towards the still waters of the lake... Suicide by drowning… It was an option he had never really thought about before.

He went back to his room and finished his cigar there, hearing the cheerful midnight countdown from his bed, alone and numb. 

‘Hey…’

‘Hey… How are you?’

A pause. 

‘Fine, I guess. Better. You?’

‘I’m okay. Been pretty busy. We’re working on drones that’ll travel back in time to save Ned...’

‘Shit…’

‘Yeah… It’s pretty crazy…’

Another pause. Peter sat down in his armchair and put his phone on speaker. He didn’t know what to say, nor did MJ, apparently.

‘Have you… been seeing that doctor much?’ he eventually asked her. ‘May told me it really helped. Your dad—’

‘My dad can’t shut up, I know, story of my life... Yeah, it helped... It’s still helping. A lot. I just…’, she struggled to find the right words. ‘Ah, nevermind, what about you? Do you have therapy too, only for… superpeople? Sorry, that didn’t make sense, I don’t know why I said that.’

‘I—I did, yeah, four times now… We have this psychiatrist here who’s apparently used to dealing with… yeah, that kind of stuff. I saw her after the blip too.’

Five seconds went by.

‘Do you remember dying?’ 

Peter flinched, having not expected that question at all. 

‘I’m sorry’, MJ quickly added. ‘I know I shouldn’t ask, but it’s just… none of us do and I was just wondering since, you know, you’re special… I just...’

‘I do remember it, yes.’

‘Oh. Oh… well… shit.’

‘Yeah… But don’t worry, I’m okay now.’

‘Really?’

He didn’t say yes. The word got stuck in his throat. Instead he just said: ‘We’re all gonna die anyway, so… let’s just say I got an advanced screening.’

‘Nice way of putting it.’

‘Yeah…’ he said, letting out a little breathy laugh around the word. He had missed her blasé drawl so much it surprised him. ‘I knew you’d appreciate it.’

He could almost see her smile on the other end of the line but his own smile quickly faded when he heard her next words.

‘I guess that’s how I should look at it… that whole... thing I went through…’

‘Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t think about—about what you went through when I said that. That was so stupid, I should’ve—‘

‘Peter, it’s okay, I’m fine. And you’re right, the best thing to do is to laugh about it, even when it's still pretty hard, so...’

‘Yeah…’

‘Yeah…’

They spoke for fifteen minutes, sharing anecdotes on their respective therapy sessions and some other dark jokes about near-death experiences, anxiety and depression. It reminded him why he had fallen for her. It was very strange, he thought, to still feel something there when he was so in love with Tony. For a second, he considered telling her about him. He almost instantly decided against it, though. He didn’t want to hurt her even more, even if he had a feeling she would find it really cool. Their friendly call made him feel better. Afterwards, he didn’t move for a long moment, caught in his own thoughts. He worried for her. Should he be more honest with her, even if it hurt? He didn’t want her to cling to hope. 

Then why did part of his heart wish she’d never stop hoping?

Work officially resumed on the third of January. They relocated to a much bigger lab-slash-workshop, feigning normalcy, and so it began. 

Two months. Two full months of languid torture.

It made them both testy and glum, having to stay in the same space together six to seven hours a day, five days a week. They hardly spoke. Tony considered working somewhere else, but the breathing paradox that he was couldn’t stay away from Peter, and so he stayed. He played his part perfectly—the patient teacher, the sarcastic mentor, the dignified and distant father figure. He acted his way through the days, staying silent for hours hunched over a prototype, avoiding eye contact, ignoring how the back of his neck was burning from Peter’s constant presence behind him, how his own breathing hitched whenever his sweet, timid voice interrupted their quiet calculations. He struggled to contain the poisonous love—gritting his teeth, filling his mind with unbelievably complex algorithms, jerking off three times a day like a freaking teenager, unable to rid himself of the still vivid memory of his body against his.

They settled into an excruciating routine. It was like an office job really—arriving at nine after a copious breakfast, sharing lunch with the others at noon, going back to their respective personal quarters around five. The younger man was always the one who left the lab first, bringing his work with him to his room and then eating dinner alone around eight in front of the now familiar hologram of diagrams, blueprints and equations. He often fell asleep in front of it, but would indulge himself with a movie night once a while. Tony plainly tried to kill every thought that wasn’t directly linked to the mission. He frequently worked alone in his personal lab until quite late at night. They both went home every Friday after work; Tony to spend his weekends in Georgia with Morgan, Peter to go back to his aunt in New York and lose himself in some well-overdue patrolling.

Peter sometimes closed his eyes and simply let himself _ feel _ it, Tony’s presence, right there a few feet away from him, and radiating waves of deep love burnt his chest. He tried to convince himself that the heady feeling was enough, but it was torture.

_ Torture… _

For three weeks Tony firmly held on, but he increasingly felt like a human pressure cooker. He became restless, even fidgety, focusing on one possible outcome of the mission without sharing any of its details with his fellow scientists. They were engrossed in other tasks anyway—Bruce on Quantum tunnel fluctuations and Peter on stealth tech, both stationed in their own little work corners. On the twenty-third of January, Peter stumbled upon the four men huddled together in a corridor after lunch, talking in low, agitated voices. He made out his name and almost ran back to the lab. Instead, he found an empty corridor and stared out the window at some tall fir trees for a while. Bruce asked him if he was okay every day, _ every single day _. That day, when the giant walked up to him a few minutes after that mysterious conversation and asked him that same old question, Peter snapped.

‘Yes! God,_ yes, I’m okay! _Will you stop asking me that?’ he barked, before instantly feeling ashamed. ‘I’m sorry, Bruce, I shouldn’t have shouted like that… I just… Can you please stop asking me if I'm okay all the time? It’s stressing me out...’

It was a beautiful afternoon on January the twenty-fourth. 

Why that day? Maybe it was simply because of the sunny weather. Or maybe it was the surprise of seeing Tony so lively, even cheerful during lunch, the side of his face caught up in a ray of sunlight pouring down from a skylight, making his hair almost golden brown, making him look so much younger...

It started with a particularly insightful question. A lengthy, very precise one. A question that Peter had been dying to ask the genius for days. He uttered it in a soft, poised voice, and Tony listened to him in complete silence. Suspended dust was floating between them. When he was done, they heard distant laughter coming from the yard. Bruce felt an empathetic flutter in his chest and wondered what the fuck was wrong with him. It took several seconds for Tony to answer him, but when he did, he couldn’t stop talking. Soon, what should have been a relatively concise answer turned into an improvised lecture on nanoarchitecture. Peter found himself hooked to his every word. Bruce as well. In contrast to Peter’s, Tony’s voice was anything but soft. It was quick, loud and strong and seeping with charismatic authority. After a few minutes of his mind receiving more stimuli than in the entire previous month, Peter felt himself irresistibly drawn to his body, and his own feet slowly brought him closer to Tony’s worktable, closer and closer and closer, until he reached it and leaned over it to seemingly inspect a particular part of the prototype currently resting there. He was right next to him now—too close, far too close, purposefully too close. 

As Peter approached him to his right, a whiff of his soapy scent sent thrills into Tony’s lungs. He was explaining the intricacies surrounding the size shifting process of carbon lattices and felt a jolt of triumph when he succeeded in keeping his voice steady. But he struggled, or God did he struggle... not to lose his composure, not to let anything show… He felt like an electromagnet trying to escape a magnetic field. When his thorough answer finally came to a close, they could only hear the sounds of their perfectly synchronized breaths; Tony skipped one just to break the weirdly distressing rhythm. He heard Bruce shift behind them, and then Peter asked another long question, his eyes still glued to his prototype. Tony risked a glance. He wanted to bury his nose in his hair, wanted to shut him up by grabbing his neck and crashing his lips against his. Instead, he just answered him again, watching his profile as he started in a booming voice that made him jump, feeling the urge to tease him if not have his way with him right there and then on that table. Bruce walked up to them. He stood to his left to participate in what turned into a scientific debate—although largely imbalanced, Tony obviously leagues above them. 

They talked for a long while, none of them aware of how much time was flying, and the subject was switched to Quantum mechanics and structural metamorphosis as applied to time travel. Tony started to sweat when he risked another quick look at his mentee, when he noticed how pink his left cheek was, how deep his breaths were, how conspicuously his chest was moving, and his eyes were fixed on the worktable as if to anchor himself. He had completely stopped asking questions and making comments, letting Bruce take over. He was the first to leave, a little after 6:30, a small ‘I’m sorry, guys, I’m starving’ on his lips. _Oh,_ _I bet you are_, Tony internally snarled.

He hadn’t expected the younger superhero to literally ambush him in an empty corridor.

‘Hey there!’ Tony exclaimed, startled. ‘I thought you were starving!’

‘Stop. Stop it.’

‘Stop what? Good night, kid.’

_ ‘Pretending’ _, Peter said, blocking the way. ‘Stop, just stop.’

‘Pretending? Life’s a big game of pretend, kid, I got Shakespeare with me on that one so don’t even try to contradict me. Now, would you please move aside? I need to take a leak.’

‘Tony…’

‘It’s urgent, it’s really urgent!’

‘Look at me!’

‘Look, kid, I’m gonna piss myself if you don’t move aside right now.’

‘I said, look at me, _ sir!’ _

‘Do you have a pee kink?’ Tony suddenly said, finally looking at him dead in the eye, his face inches from his. ‘Is that it? Is it what’s going on right now? In that case may I suggest some place a little less public as well as, dare I say, a much younger partner? Now, if you’ll excuse me... G’night!’’ 

He had taken advantage of Peter’s shock to walk past him and he didn’t look back, leaving the young scientist seething and literally trembling out of anger and frustration.

It lasted no more than three minutes.

Tony heard loud insistent rapping coming from the window wall of his bedroom at around three in the morning. He turned around in his bed and froze, his heart responding to the sight with an almost painful jolt. 

They did not exchange a single word. He knew what would happen as soon as he could make out the expression on Peter’s face in the darkness. They painfully crashed, the violence coming from the younger superhero, surprising the hell out of Tony, and he was so brutal that he genuinely hurt him, their teeth loudly colliding and his incredibly powerful hands grabbing both sides of his face so hard they instantly left bruises. They both tasted blood but Peter didn’t stop, Tony grabbing him by the back of his neck to make sure that didn’t happen, a loud desperate moan rattling through him, which was immediately followed by a sob coming from Peter. He should have stopped to reassure him, to tell him how much he loved it, to tell him how much he loved _ him _, but he couldn’t speak and neither could Peter. 

Pleasure, there was only pleasure—bursting, blinding, _ brutal. _

They simply rubbed against one another again and that was it. That was enough. 

A blur of clothes being torn, flashes of flesh being pressed, bright, shiny eyes in the darkness. Panting. Moaning. Shouting. 

Sperm. Sperm everywhere. 

Heat, water and salt.

Tony only realized Peter was leaving when he heard the sound of the window opening again, mere seconds after it was over, and when he sat up in bed, their blended semen dripping down his stomach, the teenager had already fled like a thief.

He only retained one image from that night: Peter’s face approaching his own during his sneaky entrance, open-mouthed, lust and sorrow in his big brown eyes. He didn’t see his face when he shouted in ecstasy, only faintly heard him through the blinding force of his own orgasm. Oh, how he wished to see him come, like in Rappahannock…

He fell back onto the bed, still panting.

They undoubtedly were very, very loud.

‘Friday…’ _ Deep breaths. _ ‘…monitor his return…’ _ Deep breaths. _ ‘…to his room…’ _ Good God. _‘…and tell me if… if we woke anyone up… Keep me updated and...’ 

_ Is that normal? _

‘Boss?’

‘Am I having a heart attack?’

‘Let me check.’ 

He wasn’t. 

Deep down, he felt disappointed.

* * *

The next morning, Tony woke up with a start. What if Peter was currently freaking out because of what they’d done? Friday quickly reassured him. The teenager was currently having an unusually copious breakfast, and he was on the phone with his aunt talking about his upcoming therapy session. 

_ Oh, right… Good. Good. Perfect. _

The next thing he did was to walk over to the bathroom to check himself for bruises. He had none. Nowhere. Relief washed over him. He didn’t want Peter to worry, to think that he had attacked him, that he had hurt him in any way, even if, technically, he had.

_ God, attack me like that every night, sweetheart… _

_ But no. No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no! _

When Peter entered the lab a little before 11am, Tony didn’t turn around to greet him. That wasn’t unusual at all, but Bruce nevertheless instantly felt the shifting of air. He eyed the silent couple with a worried look on his face for the entire hour before lunch. When it was time to eat, Peter was again the first to move. He only allowed himself to finally have a look at Tony’s face when he sat down next to Wanda with his sandwich. Another bright sunny day. There was no bruise there at all, at least on his left side. After another minute, he could confirm that his right side looked perfectly normal as well. Liquid warmth flooded his gut at the evidence. He wasn’t hurt. He was okay. He could take it, take Peter’s strength and be okay. He couldn’t hurt him, or at least, not enough to cause real damage. He wondered if there was a good God after all. He ate fast and was back in the lab at 12:30, way before the two older scientists showed up.

Tony and Bruce joined him an hour later, idly chatting about S.H.I.E.L.D’s worrisome radio silence, each holding a mug. Tony stopped in his tracks when he saw Peter. _ What the fuck? _ He was at _ his _ worktable, standing there, not turning around as if he had the right to be, with both his hands resting on it as he was leaning over some of _ his _ notes.

‘That programming is way too risky’, Peter began, still not turning around.

_ ‘Excuse me? _ Who allowed you to pry into my notes, you little ferret!’

Now _ that _ made Peter turn around, so quickly he almost lost his balance. ‘Ferret? _ Ferret? _’ 

‘I lack inspiration after a good meal, what can I say…’ Tony replied as he was walking up to his coffee machine a few feet from him. ‘That’s why I drink coffee. Want some?’ 

‘Why did you program them to—’

‘Kopi Luwak straight from Sumatra! I don’t think you’ve ever tried this one.’

‘You could be more subtle.’

‘And you could be less nosy. _ Shoo!’ _he comically agitated his left hand at him to make him go away while placing his mug onto the coffee machine which instantly started pouring the black liquid. 

‘More subtle?’ Bruce interjected, lost. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Trying to deflect criticism with coffee’, Peter accused him. ‘Or pretending to, at least.’

Tony swiftly turned around and frowned at him, his head tilted sideways. ‘_ Lordy! _ Do I sense some animosity there? Where did _ that _come from?’ he exclaimed in a mocking tone, his eyes glinting from the double entendre.

It was like a slap in the face, but one that made him want to burst out laughing. _ Weird. _ Peter only stuttered instead.

‘You—y—you gave them human-like thought processes that have _ nothing _to do with the mission! Why?’

‘Oh’, Tony simply said, facing the machine again.

‘Oh?’

‘But isn’t that what artificial intelligence is all about?’ he replied, purposefully mimicking one of Peter’s own defensive arguments which he had gloriously thrown at the Secretary of State all those weeks ago.

Peter’s nostrils flared. ‘Some of them may constitute a threat to the mission.’

‘Such as?’

‘Contemplative melancholy? _ Really?’ _

‘Sounds like fun.’

‘First of all, no, that doesn’t sound like fun _ at all _. Second, this won’t serve any kind of purpose directly linked with the mission and therefore—’

‘Oh so you do admit that it could be useful in an indirect way?’

‘I—what? How could that even—That is clearly—it’s—you—’

‘Ooh, stumbling on our words now, are we?’

‘It’s like you’re trying to sabotage the mission!’

A stunned pause followed, after which Tony and Bruce spoke at the same time.

‘What?’

_ ‘What?’ _

‘You heard me! The drones can’t be programmed for anything else other than the mission and you clearly did just that! Is this a joke to you or just another way to show off?’ he snapped, voice dropping in chilling accusation.

Tony couldn’t believe his ears right now. He stared directly at him, all humor gone from his eyes. The words hurt, and what he saw in Peter’s prompted him to bite his own tongue to prevent himself from firing back with something stupid.

_ Oh, so you want it rough now, do you? Is that what you’re trying to get now? _ ** _Angry sex?_ **

‘Guys…’ Bruce started, not liking where this was going.

‘And what exactly _ is _ the mission?’ Tony retorted, still very much looking him in the eye. Peter tried not to feel intimidated—or aroused.

‘What? How can you—’

‘You heard me. Therein lies the entire problem, Mr. Parker’, he began to demonstrate with an exaggerated academic tone, slowly walking over to him, _ defiant. _ ‘In that preliminary question: what _ is _ the mission? We know its ultimate goal, sure, but how to get there… that’s a whole other story, wouldn’t you agree?’ God, he was looking right at him and Peter couldn’t look away. He really, _ really _ struggled not to flinch, feeling his face heat up and his heart pump faster. ‘And that is precisely why we can’t trust any artless machine’, Tony went on.

‘Artless?’

‘We need true A.I! Not just some bare-bones machine learning. The sensors, the algorithms, the pre-fed data banks, they all have to reach a level beyond anything I’ve ever done, Vision obviously excluded.’ 

Peter winced at the mention of the fallen Avenger who had been the keeper of the Soul Stone. 

‘Why?’

‘We need them to be _ cunning _; have truly complex judgement skills, risk-taking decision-making, proactive planning. In short: an artificial conscience, but not any conscience. I don’t want them to be smart. I want them to be more than smart.’

‘You’re not really answering me.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘No, you’re not.’

‘Wait…’ Bruce attempted.

‘And melancholy helps because…’ Peter went on, irreverently skeptical.

‘Humans are flawed, _ messy. _ And why is that? Because feelings get in the way. But here’s the interesting part: feelings lead to empathy, and empathy leads to understanding, which in turn leads to better, _ subtle _ judgement. Nice little circle there, don’t you think? A messy little circle. It made me think. What if they _ need _ to be messy?’

Bruce was now looking at Tony as if he had properly lost his mind. ‘You made the bots _ flawed? _’ he asked at the same time as Peter exclaimed, scoffing: ‘Fail? To do what? Calculate coordinates? Scan the population? Perform relatively simple—’

‘To be able to _ identify hazards _—carefully hidden, potentially disastrous hazards... and prevent them from happening.’

‘Carefully hid—’ Peter began to repeat, incredulous.

‘What kind of—’ Bruce tried.

‘That’s right’, Tony cut them off.

‘Potentially disa—’ Peter went on.

‘_ Yes. _ And what would be the worst of them all, I ask you? Provided we find Ned alive, of course.’

‘Tony, what are you talking about...’ Bruce insisted, now both worried and very intrigued.

‘You’re underestimating me, kid’, Tony ignored him, still staring into Peter’s eyes.

‘Well, enlighten me then, _ sir _.’

‘How could feelings help them identify—’ poor Bruce tried again.

‘Me’, Tony simply said, finally giving them the answer, not that either of them really got what he meant.

‘What?’

‘_ Me’ _ , Tony repeated more clearly as if it cleared anything up at all. He then looked to the side as if talking to himself. ‘The best and worst possible outcome… we have to prepare for it... and I mean _ really _prepare...’

‘For _ what? _ Can you speak English, _ sir? _’

‘We need to get ready even if it’s a one in a million chance.’

‘To get ready for what?’ Peter was shouting now.

‘Guys, listen…’ Bruce tried again.

‘I told you! _ Me! _Ned bumping into younger me!’ Tony finally explained.

They were so close, only a few feet apart, and the look on Peter’s face right now would have made him snicker were his treacherous mind not transporting him to the night before, making him itch to breach the remaining space between them.

‘You—you think… wait…’

‘_ That _’s what you’ve been working on for the past month?’ Bruce said more to himself than to Tony, finally getting why his friend had been so reluctant to share any of his work.

‘Yeah… Not to be dramatic but my moral compass was a bit funky back in the day… Something’s telling me we’d better watch our backs.’

‘The worst...’ Peter finally connected the dots. ‘You said _ the worst of them all _ ? _ Disastrous _?’ 

‘I used to be a dick, what can I say? Still am to some extent, but it was pretty much out of control back then. I was always brilliant, though, and that’s the problem… I was far too brilliant for my own good… didn’t know what to do with my own genius except make more money when I was already swimming in it. Felt pretty lost. Bored. God, I was so bored, you have no idea... See where I’m going now?’

‘Wh—what are you saying? That—that you would’ve—that—that you wouldn’t have saved Ned?’

‘Can’t say for sure… The only thing I know is that it would’ve fascinated the hell out of me. I mean, _ obviously _. Now, as to where that would’ve led me... I’m not too sure. I just can’t vouch for my own sanity between let’s say… ’91 and ’07.’

His parents’ deaths and Afghanistan, Peter instantly translated, transfixed.

‘But… but what does it have to do with... _ contemplative melancholy? _’

‘Finally a good question! I didn’t _ program _ them to experience such a feeling, not directly, it’s just one of many possible outcomes of the broader algorithms I’m currently designing.’

‘A hazard, then’, Peter retorted.

‘No. I told you: I want them to be able to _ observe _…’

‘I still don’t get it.’

‘..._ compile, compute _. I know. You disappoint me.’

‘Shut up and just tell me’, Peter spat.

_ ‘ _ I already told you: _ feelings. _ I want them to be able to understand them. _ All of them. _ Analyze them. Mimic them. And what better way to do that than by forcing them to _ experience _ them? Isn’t that how we learn the best, by experience? It’s always been a struggle of mine... to design A.I. that can truly understand human emotions… the complexity, the fickleness, the unpredictability of them… Ain’t that right, Fri?’

‘I conquer, boss. You humans can sometimes act… in a puzzling way, to say the least.’

Peter was watching him intensely. ‘You wanna make them… understand you? I mean, younger you? To… to try and…’

‘_ Finally _...’

‘Wait… what do you think could happen exactly...’

‘I told you, I don’t know. Everything and anything. I mean, think about it! How would _ you _ react if a flying robot from the future revealed the secrets of time travel to you? You would be shocked, amazed, buzzing with adrenaline, both terrified and excited beyond words.’

‘Sounds like what we’ve been going through for a year now…’ Bruce mumbled.

‘Now add genius, weed, vodka and boredom to the equation and you get the whole picture.’

Peter’s eyes drifted down to the side in horrified realization.

‘Yeah’, Tony simply said.

‘But… I don’t… I still don’t… wait…’

‘Chess. A game of chess. Or poker if you will. That’s what it could very well turn out to be. Between him and me, except I won’t actually be there to make any of my own moves. We need bots able to _ read _ him. Read and predict.’

‘And manipulate…’

Tony felt an urge to pounce straight to his lips. ‘Oh, so you’re back!’ he loudly mocked him instead. ‘Was it the lack of sleep? Not enough vitamin C, maybe?’

‘Oh, shut up…’ Peter muttered.

‘You—you’re programming them so that they can manipulate you?’ Bruce slowly uttered, amazed. ‘Are you nuts? You want a repeat of Ultron?’

Tony completely ignored his last two questions. ‘Not me, younger me, but yeah, took you long enough.’

They barely spoke of that crazy prospect ever again. Tony completed the work that still needed to be done on his own and that was it. Nevertheless, it stayed at the back of their minds like a nightmarish albeit oddly hilarious threat. Tony moved on trying to remind himself that the odds seemed too thin for it to actually happen anyways—or rather, _ have happened _. Was that fact good or bad? Impossible to say.

Secretly, he prayed for it never to come true.

* * *

‘Would you have fallen for me back then?’

Tony sat up in his bed so fast he felt dizzy. He didn’t reply. Instead, he just sighed, his chin dropping to his chest, before he let himself fall back onto his firm mattress. It was three in the morning. Peter was literally talking to him from his bedroom window, attached to it like a giant bug.

‘Are you here to attack me again?’ _ Shit, that was a stupid thing to say _ . He immediately regretted his words. Peter almost left. ‘Hey!’ he blurted out to stop him, thoughtless. It sounded like a plea, soft, _ pitiful. _ But it worked. Peter stayed. _ Shit! _Trying to make him stay was wrong! He suddenly felt overwhelmed and hid his eyes in his human hand.

‘Probably’, he belatedly answered.

‘Probably?’ Peter urged him on, wanting more.

‘Yes, probably. What time is it? Shouldn’t you be in bed? You need all the sleep you can get if you wanna—’

Peter didn’t let him finish. He pounced on him from the open window like a cat and kissed him hard, not stopping as the bed loudly cracked upon the impact and they both sunk a few inches down. Tony truly felt like a magnet, helplessly drawn, with no choice but to yield, feeling as if his entire life was wrong when he wasn’t pressed against him like that. This wasn’t just right. It was the only thing that was.

Beside Morgan.

_ Shit. _

_ No, it’s wrong, we shouldn’t… _

_ It’s right, it’s wrong, it’s so fucking right and so fucking wrong. Fuck, that shit is gonna make me crazy! _

Peter deepened their kiss, awkwardly trying to plunge his tongue further into his mouth.

_ I should teach him. _

He broke their kiss only to be able to tug more easily at Tony’s pajama pants, and Tony heard himself say: ‘Congratulations, you just broke my bed’. He didn’t stop Peter’s hand. He felt out of control, schizophrenic, about to burst—into what, he didn’t know.

‘Thank you, sir, it’s an honor’, Peter replied.

Well, now he knew. He burst out laughing, Peter’s cocky reply unknowingly releasing the knot of tension inside of him. It wasn’t just a snort or a chuckle, but a full-on belly laugh. It was quite the rare sight, him laughing like that, and Peter was wonderfully startled, chuckling fondly at him.

But then, their laughter subsided. At first, they stared at each other with amused tenderness, but soon it turned into that cursed sadness they couldn’t shake off no matter how many times their love brought them back together. Peter moved. He pressed his lips against his once more but gently this time. Tony took a deep breath through his nose just as Peter did the same thing, and they shared a long passionate kiss, pouring all their love into it, just like in Rappahannock.

It soon turned torrid.

Peter couldn’t remember how, couldn’t think, couldn’t see. All his brain could register now were the sensations. They were both completely naked, and Tony was pinning him down with all his weight as he was passionately thrusting against him. His own body was sending him all the signals of an impending orgasm, and rough moans and strangled gasps were echoing each other in a rising rhythm. Tony was getting close too, he vaguely realized, and suddenly, he wanted him to stop, to give them time, to make it last. He wanted more—no, he _ needed _more.

That was when he asked him for the first time, surprising even himself.

‘Fuck me!’

Tony didn’t even hear him. He was already too far gone to be able to count to ten.

_ Peter, Peter, Peter… _

‘Ah, no, stop, stop! Fuck me!’ Peter repeated, louder. This time, Tony abruptly stopped his frantic thrusting, just in time for the two of them not to erupt. Right on the edge, he lay frozen on top of his young lover, not daring to move an inch, the word ‘stop!’ ominously echoing in his mind even if he had perfectly heard the rest.

‘Please… Please… I need you… I need you to…’

_ Oh… Oh, shit… Oh, God... _

‘Please… fuck me… fuck me… I need to feel you... inside… inside me…’

For the first time, Tony came before Peter. The words triggered his release in the most exquisite way as he lay perfectly still, and it was a mellow, sweet sort of subdued orgasm—a bit ruined by the lack of friction, some might say. It reminded him of wet dreams from his youth. He let out a few light moans, almost whimpers. A tear escaped Peter’s left eye just as he felt the first squirt of Tony’s ejaculation against his stomach. And so, for the first time, he experienced what it felt like to have his lover’s semen spilling all over him before his own climax. The warm fluid pooled onto his right side, some of it dripping along his flank onto the sheets, and then Tony lifted his hips, shifting them for it to coat Peter’s rock-hard erection and the familiar salty tang reached his nose. Suddenly his entire world was reduced to Tony’s cum.

‘Oh shit!’

His dick was covered in it, it was making the joined soft skins of their stomachs slippery, it was making both of their dicks slippery, and it was unlike anything he had ever felt. 

‘Oh please! Please! Oh, that feels so good!’ he gasped.

Tony resumed the rocking of his hips and it was as if a switch had been flicked. The sounds Peter made were high and broken, and this time Tony got to see; he lifted himself onto his forearms and watched Peter’s face contort in ecstasy while maintaining the perfect rhythm and pressure. _ God yes, baby, your turn, _ he only thought since he couldn’t speak.

Watching him afterwards was almost as good. His hooded eyes looked so thankful, so pure. 

_ So young… _

They didn’t speak much afterwards—a few rushed whispers and soft endearments—but this time Peter stayed. Tony didn’t get any rest at all, hypnotized until dawn by that angelic sleeping boy by his side. _ Just like that, _ he thought, _ he looks no older than fourteen. _

He left when Peter was still asleep, all thoughts overshadowed by self-hatred.

The next day, he was back to ignoring him.

_ God, not again…, _Peter thought.

It was raining now, of course it was, like in some cheap movie. Peter skipped breakfast. Fed up with being the one who couldn’t control himself, he vowed not to yield again, promising himself that this time, he would wait for Tony to break first, because there was no way there wouldn’t be a next time, and so he waited trying not to wait, trying not to think about it, about how good it had felt, about how badly he wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to taste him again, and he immersed himself even more in his daily tasks to stay strong.

_ Focus on the work that still needs to be done. Forget about him. Focus on Ned. _

_ Forget? When he’s right here? Right here in front of you? Forget? After what you did together? _

_ God, how can I forget when he looks like that, when he smells like that, when he talks like that and is so _—

He accidentally crushed the electronic part he had been holding. No big deal, but Bruce noticed. Did Tony notice? He couldn’t tell, until his “mentor” called out, not even turning around.

‘Careful there, young buck!’

_ Fuck you. _

As days and days slowly, _ excruciatingly _ went by, his anger and pain grew. He started throwing in some provocative intellectual remarks every once in a while, just to confront him in some way. Never once did Tony look at him. He started thinking long and hard in bed at night, tossing and turning and longing for a moment that never came. He started _ planning. _

_ I’m gonna snap. I’m gonna fucking snap, sneak into his room and make him fuck me. He can handle my strength now, I know he can... _

‘Are you alright?’ came Bruce’s timid voice one morning.

‘Yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah.’

A particularly vicious and provocative comment Tony made about his work later that day almost broke his resolve. He internally whined and it came out as a bitter, sardonic laugh.

_ Why are you torturing yourself like that? _ He wanted to scream to his face. _ Why are you torturing _ ** _me_ ** _ like that, when it’s obviously not such a big deal after all! Even Bruce seems okay with it, now! Why are you doing this? _ ** _Why?_ **

His latent anger almost turned into rage when Tony suddenly acted like his usual self again. As if nothing had happened, as if there wasn’t anything wrong, he pleasantly chatted with the others during the lunch breaks, cracked some jokes, laughed with them, and he even went as far as to include Peter in their conversations, talking to him again as if they were just mentor and mentee, _ looking _ at him now, although never directly at his eyes. Peter snapped at him one day, shutting him down like an old angry wife, which of course startled the others. Wanda raised her brows in surprise, Rhodey looked down, Bruce imperceptibly cringed over his six sandwiches, and that ever cheerful guy from the mechanical engineering team exclaimed ‘Oh snap!’, earning him many glares that the poor guy did not understand.

Thankfully, work would always anchor Peter back to a sort of patient wisdom which he took pride in, but there was a thin line between this passive state and hopelessness.

And it was endless… and complex, so complex…

_ Including instructions for building an arc reactor from absolute scratch in case Ned had ended up between the 1750s and the 1960s… But why not bring one to him directly then? Shrinking highly-ionized atoms in fusion into the Quantum realm… Wait, how would that even work? And to do it with _ ** _all_ ** _ the bots just in case? What are the odds again? What was that margin of error? Is it all worth it? Can we even do it? Oh my god, how much? Did I hear that correctly? Billions of dollars? _ ** _Billions?!_ **

They should be a team of dozens, no, of _ hundreds _ of people, government-approved ones, not a handful of crazy scientists working on their own.

‘We’re not. Working on our own. We got several departments working on the mission as we speak’, Bruce assured him.

‘Working on the mission? What does that mean exactly? I thought they were just executing production orders.’

‘They’re… testing stuff as well.’

‘Testing?’

‘I guess.’

‘You guess?’

Bruce just shrugged.

‘What do they know exactly?’

It took the giant a moment to reply. He seemed to hesitate. ‘Not much.’

‘Great. And what about… what about S.H.I.E.L.D?’

‘That’s… a whole other problem.’

‘What if… what if they stumbled upon one of the bots? Do you think they would help Ned? When was it even created? In the fifties?’

‘That’s what Tony’s working on right now... It’s not just S.H.I.E.L.D we worry about...’

_Okay, _**_Nazis? _**_Holy shit, _**_what?_** What the hell were they doing?

_ What the hell is he wearing today? Is that one of my hoodies? No, of course it isn’t, what am I saying… Just… focus back on that formula… _

It was getting harder and harder to sleep.

_ I need to do it. I’ll tell him and then… and then he won’t be able to resist me anymore. _

Thank God for science. It occupied his mind long enough for him not to completely lose his shit. He came up with a new way of producing a high voltage of electricity from scratch based on Tesla’s work, essentially finalizing it with a few clever twists. He elaborated the whole thing on his own for a couple of days only, before presenting the project to the two older men, and there was a moment of stunned, almost hurtful silence, before Tony just said: ‘Could work.’

And it did. It did work. He did invent something! There was something exhilarating about that fact. Pride and something like _ power _kept his adrenaline level higher than usual as he spent the next days conducting simulations and perfecting the whole concept. It enabled him to push his love for Tony to the back of his mind, but as soon as he left the lab and locked himself in his bedroom, the repressed feeling burst and leaked out of his every cell.

He didn’t remember when he first felt the desire for Tony to do _ that _ to him, but it didn’t matter. One Wednesday after lunch, exactly one week before Valentine’s Day, he called May and asked her for her credit card numbers, telling her he wanted to buy stuff online without bothering her. She happily obliged without asking any questions, reminding him that she had added him as an authorized user over a year ago. Well, technically six now. He had completely forgotten, simply because he had never used it, having always picked up some cash from the kitchen counter instead, May always leaving some for him to use during his school days.

And so he ordered some… _ necessary tools _ on Amazon, along with other banal products—razors, shaving cream, moisturizer, shampoo, sunscreen, even a fucking body puff—hoping they would somehow hide the incriminating ones. It was strange not to be able to enter his own name for the delivery, putting their personal assistant Arjun’s one instead. _ God, we have a butler… _ He also entered the wrong address at first, their former one, and felt a pang of nostalgia. When he clicked to confirm the order, he hid his face in his hands, sighing and laughing at himself at the same time.

_ What the hell am I doing… _

He couldn’t wait until he was home. Literally, he couldn’t wait. And so he tried it, _ properly _ tried it for the first time in his life that night, alone in the privacy of his own bathroom in the compound, and he had to put on some loud music—Radiohead or something—to muffle any noise that might come from the unnatural act. He tried to laugh it off, he really did.

He didn’t know whether being Spider-Man helped or made it worse. It meant that his fingers were much, much stronger than any normal human ones, but that part of him too, inevitably, and he struggled to make it any looser, fearing it might even be impossible. He ended up weirding himself out pretty deeply, pun intended. Watching YouTube videos of guys explaining how to do it didn’t help much.

_ ‘Take deep breaths.’ _

_ Yeah, right… _

Tony’s body was not yet familiar to him, not yet fully memorized. He even struggled to remember what his cock precisely looked like. The feeling of it he knew much better. Against his body, in his hand, in his mouth… He imagined what it would feel like inside of him but no matter how much he tried to lose himself in his own imagination, the absurdity of his current position kept pulling him back to the mortifying reality: himself, alone in the shower, struggling to stretch that shameful part of him in a ridiculous posture. He tried again the next night, still in the shower, but the weirdness didn’t ease off, nor did any of his muscles. He didn’t like the fact that he_ had _ to do it—poking, stretching, _ probing _. He didn’t want Tony to do that to him either. He wanted him to take him directly. He wanted him to fill him, to own him, to fuck him, period. Slowly, tenderly; hard and fast. He wanted him to make love to him. And he wanted to be clean. There was absolutely no fucking way he would defile Tony like that. The mere idea of it made him shudder. Oh yes, he couldn’t wait to be properly equipped.

When he went home that Friday night, May told him a package had been delivered the previous day and that she had put it in his bedroom. Despite his best efforts, his cheeks turned a pale red and he thanked her with a small voice that was a major give-away in itself, but she didn’t say anything.

He spent the whole weekend learning, testing, experimenting, because that was what he was used to as a scientist, and because he knew that it needed to be done. The first time he felt actual pleasure, it surprised him, and then his own surprise puzzled him. It was basic anatomy, it was why he was doing it in the first place, so why that feeling of surprise? Maybe it was simply difficult for his mind to wrap around the fact that that part of his body could be so paradoxical. Pain and pleasure. Right and wrong. Disgust and desire. It was such a strange thing to do… but at least he felt much cleaner now thanks to that squirting thingy, whatever its name was.

Valentine’s Day was three days away now… Should he wait until that day to make his move? _ Could _he wait until that day? It was so corny and cliché he knew Tony would make fun of him but he couldn’t help being a hopeless romantic, despite everything…

He brought the equipment with him to the compound, and on Monday night, he did it again, trying the biggest toy of the two he had bought for the first time. It was still not very big, but it was a start.

_ Start with small dildos, _ the guy from YouTube had said.

_ Here we go… _

He took off his pajama pants, lay on his back on the comfortable bed and almost gave up upon the first push. Too much, too big, too fucking weird. But then he thought about Tony. Giving up now? No way.

After a while it did become less uncomfortable, less painfully tight, and he tried to find his prostate, keeping a scientific outlook on the situation, until it started to feel…

_ Okay, it’s not that bad. Yeah, it’s not that bad. Yeah, it’s... almost pleasant. Yeah, that… that felt kind of good. Okay. Okay, deep breaths. Oh, that... wow, okay. I’m sort of stretchy now, a little bit… God, if Ned knew… If he knew what I was doing right now… Damn, he would probably give me some advice, make his own little research on YouTube and come back with tons of info and encouraging words. Ah, shit, I shouldn’t laugh, it makes it slip out… Holy shit, this is so fucking ridiculous. Okay, here we go again! Oh, actually, laughing helped a little bit… feeling less tense now... Well, thanks Ned, wherever you are. Fuck, what is wrong with me? What the actual fuck, Penis Parker? Fuck, why won’t my mind shut up? Focus! Yeah… yeah… ouch. Okay, feels weird. Woah… holy shit, I got the shivers… Oh, feels kind of good… but still weird… like before taking a big slippery dump… Great. Fantastic. Fucking wonderful. Oh, shit… Okay, that’s… Oh my god, Tony will be so much bigger, how the hell is an entire dick supposed to fit in here? Okay, that feels nice. It definitely feels nice. Don’t _ — _ don’t think about the fact that you’re alone right now, looking absolutely ridiculous. Just don’t. Think about Tony… Tony… Wait… What if there are cameras in my room? What if he’s watching right now? No. No, he wouldn’t do that. God… _

‘Fri?’

‘Yes, Peter.’

‘Are there any cameras in my room?’

‘There is a security camera in the ceiling, yes, but it is only used for—’

‘Shit!’

He hid under the covers like a child, but he didn’t stop.

_ It must feel so fucking good to be the one inside… so tight and hot, and when it sort of pushes on its own like that it must be _ — _ oh fuck, that felt good. Oh, shit. Oh, that’s very, very nice…’ _

He ended up jerking off with the small dildo still inside him, pushing it back in with his left hand every time it threatened to slide out, the double stimulation blowing his mind to the point of drawing tears. He somehow both pictured Tony inside of him and him inside of Tony, and the interwoven images, yin and yang-like, were as moving as they were arousing.

Yeah, he definitely understood now.

And then, the next day, on the thirteenth of February, he won, seemingly out of the blue.

It was ten past five. As it often happened now, he had forgotten to leave the lab after Bruce, too enthralled with his own work. He didn’t even hear Tony behind him. In a second, his whole body tensed in surprise as strong arms tenderly wrapped around him in a sweet embrace and a warm body pressed against his back. Tony buried his nose in his hair, slowly breathed in and out, then his face caressed its way down to stop right above his left ear where he kissed him softly. Peter shivered from delight, his entire body melting. He felt the urge to turn around and hug him, but he didn’t. He simply waited. For long, blissful seconds, Tony stayed like that, hugging him from behind, breathing slowly. Peter closed his eyes as he felt himself swell in his jeans.

And then it was over. Tony gave a wistful sigh, the sound filled with sorrow, gently unwrapped his arms and walked away, making for the door of the lab.

‘I prepared myself’, Peter blurted out. The words came out of his own mouth, in his own voice, but they sounded foreign. His heart dropped. Tony stopped right in front of the door. Peter didn’t clarify anything. He just waited for the meaning to dawn on him, folding his arms against his chest where he could still feel Tony’s own. He looked at him, but Tony didn’t turn around right away. When he slowly did, their eyes met, and Peter watched as various emotions flew over his face—realization, shock, doubt, disbelief—until finally, fear and lust blended together to form some sort of despair. There was no sarcastic joke, not even a tired rejection. Tony said nothing at all. Instead, he looked down, took a deep breath, turned and quietly walked out, leaving Peter scared he had gone too far.

* * *

When his bedroom door abruptly slid open in the middle of the night, he literally jumped out of bed, his super reflexes kicking over. 

‘What—’

‘Stop me. Stop me, now’, Tony rasped, his voice unusually hoarse.

‘What?’

_ Oh my god. _

In a second, the older man was inches away, and Peter instantly smelled alcohol on his breath. _ No _ , he thought right before Tony grabbed his head, bracketing it. His touch made Peter’s eyes flutter shut on their own accord, and the sharp difference of temperature between his two hands made him shudder. His right one was cold as ice, his human one hotter than his own skin. _ Feverish. _ The physical contact was overwhelming. When he opened his eyes again, he felt in a sort of trance. _ Stop him! He’s drunk! _ There was fire in Tony’s eyes, a mirror of his own face so many days ago. 

‘Stop me’, Tony repeated in a whisper against his mouth, and then, to Peter’s utter shock, his vibranium hand left the side of his head to push him hard, _ very _ hard, right in the middle of his chest. The unbelievable strength of his own mutant body was the only thing keeping Peter from flying backwards, Tony merely managing to make him stumble back until the back of his legs hit his bed, but he sat on it too abruptly and the impact made it scrape against the tiled floor with a loud noise of heavy wood against polished carbon. Tony didn’t seem to care. He charged and pushed him again, both his shoulders this time, Peter’s back hitting the mattress with another screech of the bed. When he tried to sit up, he found that he couldn’t, Tony now straddling him and, _ dear Lord _, pinning his arms down.

‘Are you nuts?’ Peter frantically whispered, trying to ignore how wrecked and horny the billionaire looked above him. _ And drunk. Oh God. _‘Wanda’s sleeping right next to my room! Bruce is two doors away!’

‘Happy Valentine’s Day.’

Tony uttered the words in a deep stern voice, sounding... _ dangerous. _Peter had only heard him use that voice in his old fantasies. And then he was kissing him roughly, more roughly than he had ever had, a payback for his own three minutes of insanity. There was a big difference though: the older man was experienced. Much, much more experienced. For the first time, it really showed. For the first time, he was truly letting go, expertly devouring his mouth, not stopping to make sure he was okay, not stopping out of shame or remorse. He was feral and wild, plunging, nipping, biting, finally letting his darker impulses loose. Peter’s wildest dreams were crashing with reality. He instantly loved the taste of whiskey. He didn’t think about what he should or shouldn’t do anymore. He couldn’t think at all. He saw white. A deep moan made his chest vibrate.

Tony stopped.

‘My room. Now.’ 

It was an order. 

‘Fuck yes’, Peter blurted out, and as Tony was getting up with a muffled ‘Shit!’, he jumped straight to the window, making him start and the bed screech once more. Their eyes met. It was probably exhilaration that made Peter wink at him in the goofiest way imaginable. The look on Tony’s face was priceless.

‘That wink was _ ridiculous _’, the older genius playfully sneered a minute later as soon as he entered his own bedroom, knowing Peter was already here. Here, in his bed. Without another word, he quickly breached the distance and pulled at the covers with a theatrical flourish, unveiling Peter’s very naked and very aroused body. He froze at the sight and muttered another curse under his breath. Peter barely repressed the urge to shout a ‘Tada!’ Instead, he tried to say something reasonable but Tony didn’t let him.

‘How much... have you... had to drink?’ he managed to finally utter a minute or so later between wet whiskey-flavored kisses. Tony didn’t reply right away, and he found himself unable to press him on, pinned as he was under half his weight, feeling the heat of his clothed erection against his naked hip, of his thighs on either side of his own left one, and he craved for more, far, far more. He didn’t know why but the coldness of his prosthetic hand against his skin turned him on even more, making him hiss. Their hips bucked at the exact same time, which prompted him to try and blindly tear Tony’s shirt off but the older man suddenly grabbed his wrists and pushed them down. He nearly came untouched.

‘A whole bottle of Scotch and I’m still lucid.’

It took him a moment to register the words. He helplessly gasped and wrapped his legs around Tony’s right thigh, seeking more contact, before his face fell.

‘What? _ What?’ _

‘Experiment.’

‘What?’

‘Mmmmh’, Tony vibrated against his chest and cheek, all but rubbing his face against his like a cat, gently scratching him. Oh, how Peter loved his beard… He loved it so fucking much… He moaned again, and Tony moved to lay entirely on top of him, pushing Peter’s left thigh with his right knee, settling between his legs, but Peter’s logical mind gave a desperate jolt and was suddenly much clearer.

‘A _ whole bottle?’ _

‘My body can’t get drunk anymore’, he explained in his ear, his voice still unusually deep.

‘What?’

‘Mmmh.’

Tony’s hips were moving in rhythm now, rutting, little jerks that sent shivers of pleasure threatening to cloud his brain again in no time.

‘Oh.’

‘Mmmh.’

He had trouble forming any coherent thought, but reason was still stronger. ‘You look pretty drunk to me.’

‘Not enough.’

‘Not enough?’

‘No.’

‘What d—'

‘To forget.’

Tony applied more pressure on his wrists, lifted his head from where it had nestled itself against Peter’s then went down for another passionate kiss. 

Peter almost forgot the whole conversation. When Tony pulled away, he forced his wrists to rest on either side of his head and pressed his own forearms to his as if trying to hug him in that position. Like this, his body was now fully aligned with his. His intense brown eyes were all Peter could see. For a second, he thought Tony was going to cry, but then he whispered against his forehead:

‘I swear to God, you’re gonna be the death of me...’ He kissed the skin just below Peter’s hairline and almost released his wrists, caressing the right one with his human thumb. ‘…looking like that, talking like that_ , thinking _ like that, _ existing.. _.’

‘I love you.’

‘Hush!’

Another salve of kisses and rolling of hips and pressure on his wrists followed. Peter had jerked off twice that night already, thank God, otherwise he would have busted after two seconds of this. After a while, Tony started moaning too. Peter instantly knew he was getting close as well, and the sounds he normally loved so much woke him up from his lustful haze.

_ Hello?! He’s drunk and you’re not! He might regret this later! Stop him! Why the hell aren’t you stopping him! What the fuck, Peter!? _ He tried to talk, but Tony quickly shut him up with another kiss every time he did. Words and thoughts mingled in his powerless brain.

‘You’re drunk… we should—wait—you’re—you—drunk!’

‘No. Just desperate.’, Tony replied, really sounding on the cusp of spilling in his pants.

‘Don’t wanna… take advantage…’

Tony froze, and then, taking Peter aback, he let out a big belly laugh, just like the previous time. It was contagious even though it sounded bitter and Peter perfectly knew that the reason for it was anything but funny. He couldn’t help it, he laughed along, quietly, relishing the feeling of Tony’s chest bouncing against him and of his face buried in the crook of his neck. He felt wetness there when the laughter subsided.

They stayed like that for a while, Tony not moving at all.

‘Take me’, Peter whispered.

Tony sighed.

‘I’m yours’, he tried again.

‘You shouldn’t be.’

There was no pressure on his wrists at all now, and Peter gently freed himself to wrap his arms around him. He caressed his way down Tony’s back and then up, stopping at the back of his shoulders, gently squeezing them.

‘Make love to me.’

Tony snorted.

‘I’m being serious.’

‘No’, Tony hoarsely replied against his neck, a big fat yes pouring out of his every pore.

‘It’s Valentine’s Day.’

‘Not funny...’

‘Not meant to be...’

‘Mmmh…’ Tony grunted, melting into his arms nonetheless.

‘I want you to’, Peter purred, bringing his legs up around his hips and wrapping them around his butt, his erection softly moving against Tony’s stomach.

Tony’s breath stuttered.

‘You won’t like it.’

‘Try me.’

‘It’ll hurt. A lot.’

‘You do know who you’re talking to, right?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure it does.’

‘You’re not immune to pain.’

‘I could handle a train.’

The words almost put a complete stop to Tony’s urges. Almost. ‘No, you couldn’t’, he replied, turning his face for his nose to rest against his jaw, just as Peter pointed out the rhyme with an amused smirk. ‘It made you lose your fucking mind, remember?’

Peter’s brow went up at that. ‘You think the train did it?’

‘Listen, I can’t do that to you, I can’t.’

‘Says the man who just attacked me.’

‘Payback for last month.’

‘So… you’re punishing me. That’s hot.’

‘Shit...’

‘Oh, punish me, Mr. Stark…’ Peter whined erotically, before giggling at how ridiculously porny he had sounded.

‘That’s—no. Don’t—don’t do that.’

‘You’re smiling.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Yes, you are. I can feel it.’

‘After-effect of my Laphroaig.’

‘Your what?’

‘Single malt Scotch.’

‘So, you_ are _ drunk.’

‘I told you: barely. Pleasantly tipsy. Far too bold for my own good… and yours…’

‘Is it true that alcohol can make you last longer?’

‘Hush…’

‘Come on… I want you to…’

‘Don’t wanna hurt you.’

‘I’ve told you: I’ve prepared myself.’

‘Yeah. Right.’

‘What, you don’t believe me?’

‘Oh, I do, I just know it won’t be enough.’

‘You’re not that big’, Peter deadpanned, teasing.

‘Wow. Ouch.’

‘I’ve done things... to myself...’

‘Yeah, thanks, that’s what I figured.’

‘I bought a bunch of stuff…’

That prompted Tony to lift himself up and have a proper look at him, and the face he made caused Peter to burst out laughing and literally spit on his face. ‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry!’ he guffawed as he wiped the specks of saliva from Tony’s nose and prickly cheek, and Tony just waited with a comically stern expression, eyes closed and lips firmly pressed together, clearly struggling not to laugh. Peter giggled even more.

‘A _ bunch of stuff? _’ he eventually asked.

‘Yeah, you know… stuff’, Peter adorably tried to clarify while not clarifying anything at all.

‘Butt plugs?’

‘What? No!’

‘Oh. Dildos, then.’

‘Y—yeah… just two’, he said while suddenly stroking Tony’s hair, making a mess out of it and giggling at his own work.

‘You said a bunch of stuff’, Tony ignored him, but he was now frowning with amusement in his eyes. ‘Only two dildos isn’t _ a bunch of stuff _.’ 

‘Something to clean myself too… and lube.’

‘You didn’t have lube?’

‘No…’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, why, is that bad?’

‘Of course not, I’m just…’

‘Just…?’

Tony abruptly sighed and went down to nestle against his neck again. It felt so nice to have all his weight on him like that. Thank God for his own strength. 

‘Just don’t think it’s a good idea.’ He then tried to pull away but Peter didn’t let him.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, why not? No-one’s here to watch us! Besides, most of them already know we did a bunch of stuff together!’

‘A bunch of stuff…’

‘I—Yeah!’ They looked into each other’s eyes. ‘You’re stressing yourself out way too much about this when it’s really not such a big deal.’

‘Not a big deal?’

‘No. Think about—’

‘I know a certain aunt who’d disagree with you...’ 

When Peter didn’t say anything back, he tried to leave again. Again, Peter’s arms didn’t let him. 

‘You’re being stubborn’, Peter said.

Tony snorted. ‘_ I’m _ being stubborn?’

‘Yes!’

‘Listen, I can’t hurt you. I just can’t.’

‘Why do you keep—’

‘It won’t be enough...’

‘What? Oh come on.’

‘Look at you… so innocent…’

‘Innocent? I just told you I put—’

‘…unexperienced, _ naive.’ _

‘Naive?!’

‘It takes time, kid. Time and lots of practice.’

‘I know that, sir, _ thanks. _’

‘No, you don’t. You think you’re ready after only playing with yourself for a few days.’

‘Yeah so, like, what you’re basically saying is: never have sex because you’ve never had sex. You’re not making any sense! Unless you want me to fuck myself for what, a month before we even try it? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘I’ll freak out.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’

‘Why? Because I’m so young?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’

‘You can’t even vote.’

‘Oh my god! Shocking!’

‘Pete…’

‘I’m just a poor, innocent child, so pure and innocent…’

‘Stop.’

‘It doesn’t matter how many times I tell you, does it? I’m not a child! No, you stay here!’

‘Peter…’

‘Why won’t you just_ listen _ to me?’

‘I can’t.’

‘Okay… you know what? I’m gonna show you then.’

‘You don’t—' 

Without warning, Peter flipped him over, almost embarrassingly easily, and Tony nearly hit the back of his head against the fancy wood of the headboard. Now a prisoner to Peter’s much stronger grip on his wrists, he gaped at him with wide shocked eyes.

‘See?’ Peter said. Tony squirmed to get free, but he hardly moved at all. ‘I’m Spider-Man, remember?’ The young superhero then went down and purred in his ear: ‘I can make you stop whenever I want to…’ He shifted his hips and found the perfect spot, his cock now against Tony’s clothed one. ‘...even with what those aliens did to you… you’ll always be the weaker one.’

Pleasure rushed up in Tony’s veins so fast he helplessly gasped, and it almost sounded like a whimper. He surrendered, and it felt like freedom. For the few blissful minutes that followed, he let Peter free him from the burden which was slowly killing him.

Tony Stark at his mercy... It felt so good to be able to surprise the hell out of such a man, to be able to _ control _him. Peter didn’t let go of his wrists pinned on either side of his face as he started covering his neck and chest with kisses, licking and sucking in a way he had never done before. When he sucked onto one of his tiny little nipples, he heard the much older man whimper for real this time, and his heart filled with such raw love that it destroyed every inhibition, every doubt, every fear. He felt drunk too. He released his wrists to go lower and quickly pulled his pants down just enough to take him into his mouth. Tony’s hands flew to his head in a weak attempt to try and make him stop.

‘Peter...’, he managed to say but couldn’t protest any more than that. He whimpered again as Peter’s mouth engulfed him.

Peter’s mind was blank with pleasure. He gave a little laugh around Tony’s hard length when he heard a faint ‘Brat!’ coming from him. He relentlessly went up and down, up and down, taking him as far as he could without full-on choking, making him hit the back of his mouth as often as he could, not quite managing to take him all the way to his throat, and he was dragging loud breaths through his nose, his eyes watering from the delicious effort. Having him like that in his mouth felt divine. He didn’t know why exactly. Maybe it was the magic of being able to give him such pleasure. Maybe it was the simple fact of having his hard dick in his mouth. Maybe it was the power he had over him, the beautiful sounds he could tear from the man who seconds earlier had talked to him in such an authoritarian, masculine way. It was too much, Tony was getting louder and louder, he was going to come. 

When Peter heard the unmistakable gasps of pleasure right before the end, he came himself, his mouth still around him, and what would have been otherwise a perfect timing had pretty dire consequences. The searing bliss meant he lost control of his own body just as Tony’s hips jerked upward, shieving himself into his throat. He properly choked this time, unable to breathe as thick hot fluid filled him in an instant in the worst possible way. It took him quite a while to recover, coughing and retching awfully, and he really struggled not to actually throw up from the lingering bitterness alone, barely succeeding, all the while trying to gesture to Tony that he was okay.

He couldn’t reassure him afterwards, not really. He stayed with him until seven, still fully erect for so long, cuddling with him, peppering his neck and bearded jaw with kisses, but it didn’t work. Tony was lying very still, lost in his own dark world now, clearly back to his remorseful self no matter how many times he repeated to him that he was okay. His movements were unusually slow the next morning, almost sluggish. He looked older again. They remained stuck in some sort of limbo for the entire day until it was four in the afternoon and Bruce left early to spend a romantic evening in New York with his girlfriend. Right. It was still Valentine’s Day. He stopped at the door and broke the heavy silence.

‘Hey… are you guys okay?’

‘What?’ Peter said, startled.

‘Always’, Tony replied out of habit. ‘Have fun tonight.’

‘Really?’

‘You know, why don’t you stop worrying for a while?’ Tony told him kindly. ‘Just get with your Mrs. and have fun. What’s her name again? Laura?’

‘Clara.’

‘Tell her I said hi.’

Bruce stared at him for a few more seconds, then turned towards Peter.

‘Peter? You okay?’ he tried with the feeling he was walking on eggs.

Peter managed not to roll his eyes at him. ‘We’re all fine here.’

‘Okay… Well… uh… have a nice… uh... enjoy the rest of the day.’

‘Thanks, buddy’, Tony said, before settling into another long stretch of unbearable silence.

_ God, that was awkward… _

‘It’s still Valentine’s Day’, Peter stupidly said after twenty minutes of helpless fidgeting.

No response.

‘We could… Would you like to…’

‘No.’

‘We could get drunk together’, he ignored him, ‘or at least try to. See who lasts longer...’

It tore a chuckle from Tony. Victory? So soon?

‘Have you seen the last Mission Impossible?’ Peter then asked, hopeful.

‘God no.’

‘I’ll bring pizza’, he tried again.

‘My room. Nine on the dot.’

_ Well, that was easy. But, wait, nine? Not in the dead of night? Does that mean we’re a normal couple now? _ Pleasantly surprised and relieved beyond words, Peter gave him a bright smile and almost pumped his fist. He restrained himself, rocking a little on his heels instead.

‘I won’t be late, sir.’

Tony rolled his eyes.

They were getting closer and closer to launching day. The looming deadline made Peter feel as if he couldn’t afford to miss any chances now, because even though he knew that none of them would be physically endangered by the mission, it meant that he would finally learn the truth about Ned. He would learn his fate. He dreaded the day, sensing that it would change him forever. The odds Tony and Bruce had so often repeated to him were haunting. Sometimes, in the dead of night, his scarred soul would dream about a bleak reality in which the ticking hours before the second of March were his last to grasp—the last days and nights he could find any happiness at all. They would morph into nightmares about May, about MJ, and, inevitably, about Tony. He woke up one night just like in the movies in which a character has a horrible nightmare, abruptly sitting up in his bed, all sweaty, nauseous and as white as a sheet. He had been dreaming about a countdown, the one before the launch, and these had been the last seconds he’d had with Tony before the final_ ‘one’ _ had marked his death, or his own, or both, he couldn’t remember. It made no sense at all, but that sense of doom didn’t fully disappear with dawn, always staying at the back of his mind, and he didn’t know why.

During the hours before nine o’clock that feeling of dread grew, becoming so strong it almost felt like his Peter tingle, but there was no imminent danger, no threat at all. Just Tony. Tony opening the door for him without a glance, snatching up the pizza box from his hands without a word, as if this was what he had been waiting for and Peter was merely a delivery man. Tony flopping onto the leather couch of his suite and directly biting into a precut slice of pizza which he had carelessly folded. Tony sloppily pouring red wine into two elegant glasses, offering one to him still without a glance, chewing with an open mouth. He was in his pajamas already. Peter was wearing jeans and a hoodie but still felt overdressed.

‘If you were hoping I’d go all lovey-dovey tonight, then you clearly don’t know me at all.’

‘Oh no, not at all, I’m just hoping for a good fuck.’

Tony nearly choked. Peter simply smiled, the _ imp. _ He then put his glass of wine back onto the coffee table saying: ‘I’m not twenty-one.’

It took Tony a few seconds to be able to reply. He swallowed his chunk of pizza then retorted: ‘Says the guy who suggested we both get drunk tonight…’

‘I’ve changed my mind.’

‘Oh. Good to know you can change your mind so quickly about something you wanna do with me.’ The sarcasm in his voice was so bitter it prompted Peter to move. With no hesitation whatsoever, he straddled him and settled on his lap.

‘I’m eating.’

‘So?’

‘What, are you just gonna watch me eat? On my lap? Really?’

‘Why not?’

Tony snorted, then took a big bite right in front of his face. Peter dived in and imitated him, biting into the slice he was holding, or at least trying to. It was awkward and messy and fucking ridiculous, a big chunk of ham and melted mozzarella covered in tomato sauce falling onto Tony’s shirt, and Peter giggled, only managing to take a chuck of it properly into his mouth after a couple of failed attempts. Tony started laughing too, but only with his eyes.

‘Sexy.’

‘Thanks.’ He looked down. ‘Oh shit, I’m so sorry!’

‘Are you actively trying to ruin all my shirts? I think this is the fifth one.’

‘No way! Only… the third or something.’

‘You’d be happy to know that I’ve now secured all my vintage ones in a safe.’

‘Smart move.’ Peter then bent over and clumsily caught the fallen pieces directly with his tongue and teeth.

‘Is this gonna last long?’

‘See how flexible I am?’ Peter interrupted him before wiggling his eyebrows at him.

‘Okay, stop. First of all, that’s laughable. Second, I’m actually starving right now, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat without you waiting on my lap like a hungry pet.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Stark’, Peter teased.

They looked at each other, both about to laugh. Peter then put his hands against the back of the sofa on either side of Tony’s head, and Tony thought he was about to kiss him, but he just did this for leverage and stood up.

‘Thanks’, Tony said, feigning relief.

‘Gosh, it’s so hot in here, Mr. Stark. Did you turn the heating up or something?’

‘What are you doing…’

Peter was removing his hoodie. He had nothing underneath. ‘Ah, that’s much better.’

‘Are you trying to reenact some gay porn you saw on XTube? Is that what’s happening right now?’

‘Nah, I just wanna eat while comfortable, sir, that’s all.’

‘Then eat.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Tony snorted again. After a long moment of just them eating in silence, he told him: ‘You do realize I’m constantly freaking out because of how young you are, right?’

‘Oh yeah’, Peter said around a mouthful of pizza. ‘D’you have any Coke?’

‘You calling me _ sir _ and _ Mr. Stark _ isn’t gonna help…’

‘Nor is reminding you that I’m definitely not a child anymore, apparently, so I figured, might as well go for it.’

_ ‘Go for it?’ _

‘Oh yeah. Been dreaming about you fucking me while I call you Mr. Stark for a long, long time. Don’t tell me you only have wine here. Crap, I should’ve thought of bringing some drinks too.’ Peter finally risked a glance. Tony was staring at him, looking dead serious. ‘What? Am I shocking you, sir?’

Tony didn’t speak. He seemed to be thinking hard, trying to figure something out and failing. And then there was sadness, again. That fucking sadness that Peter couldn’t shake out of him.

‘Manhandling me won’t change a thing.’

‘What?’ Peter exclaimed in a small breathy voice._ Where did that come from? _

‘You heard me.’

‘Manhandling you? What are you talking about?’

‘Don’t pretend you didn’t plan this out.’

‘Wh—what? What are you—’

‘What you did last night. Showing me how strong you are, and how weak I am compared to you. It won’t change the fact I could technically be your grandfather.’

‘Maybe. But it means you can’t take advantage of me. You can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to because I could literally crush you with my pinky! Okay, that was a stupid metaphor, but you know what I’m saying. And… gosh… I’m so tired of you not understanding this: I am an _ adult _ now _ , _ a— _ ’ _

‘Who can’t drink yet.’

‘A _ young adult _, maybe, but an adult nonetheless.’

‘Who can’t even vote.’

‘But who can have sex with whoever I want! I’m legal now!’

‘Not in every State.’

‘Jesus, really? Wanna know what the legal age of consent is in Italy? _ Fourteen!’ _

‘Wow, pedos must be streaming over there in _ droves.’ _

‘In Germany too!’

‘Former allies, makes sense.’

‘In France, it’s fifteen! In the UK, sixteen!’

‘Please, do continue, I don’t think I’m quite getting your point yet.’

‘And wanna know why? Because people fall in love! All the time! And some of them happen to have a huge age gap! Why? Because you don’t always get to choose who you fall in love with!’

‘Tell that to your unusually attractive aunt.’

‘So yeah, you’re old, I’m young, but you’re not that old and I’m definitely not that young, and we’ll stay together when everything turns to shit, when my aunt learns about it, when the whole world will accuse you of being the twisted pervert that _ I know you are not _. I’ll be there! Rhodey, Happy, Bruce, Pepper will be too! She’ll explain everything to—to your daughter and— and everything will be fine. I’ll grow older and so will you but you know what? It’s your soul I’m in love with, not your age! You could be a hundred years old and I’d still be in love with you!’

‘Beautiful’, Tony only managed to say in a mocking tone.

‘Shut up.’

‘And no, I don’t have any Coke.’

‘Mineral water, then?’

‘I… think so…’

‘Sparkling?’

‘Yes.’

‘Great. Fridge?’

‘Yep.’

They stayed quiet for a while, even when Peter sat down again next to him on the couch. He drank directly from the bottle and then passed it over to Tony who quietly declined. They ate, or at least Peter ate, and he saw Tony hardly pretend to. He was still shirtless but no longer in the mood for any awkward erotic games anymore.

‘I’m sorry’, came Tony’s faint voice when Peter was done eating the entire pizza.

‘Sorry? For what?’

‘Everything.’

Their eyes met. It was very strange, hearing those simple, banal words from him. Rare. Precious. And heart-breaking.

‘Oh please, you don’t have anything to—’

‘No, listen to me. Please. Don’t interrupt me, okay?’

‘Okay’, Peter said in a small voice, the word ‘please’ in Tony’s voice sounding even stranger, almost unnatural. It sounded… raw, intimate. If he had been a dog, Peter’s ears would have perked up. He didn’t want to miss any word he had to say now, even if they hurt. He braced himself.

‘I don’t…’ Tony stopped, took a breath and looked ahead, searching for the right words, struggling. ‘I haven’t treated you…’ Again, he couldn’t finish. Peter wanted to take him into his arms, but he kept his promise. ‘It’s been hard. Have been feeling like shit since the snap. The final one, I mean.’ _ Well, duh, _ Peter thought. ‘After… After _ Thanos _ … after the first snap… after your… after your _ death _ … shit... Listen... it took me years to be okay again, but in the end, I was. I was okay.’ They shared a look. ‘Had a kid’, Tony added in a slightly broken voice, his brow raised by emotion. Peter gulped. His voice was then firmer and deeper. ‘It’s something you and I can’t share. Why? You see… I had no idea. _ No idea _ what it truly was like… how… how beautiful… how meaningful… God, I had no idea until she was in my arms, Pete. And _ you _ can’t know. You can’t know that feeling until you experience it yourself. You can imagine it, sure, but you can’t know, not until you become a parent yourself.’ Peter knew where this was going and he already had a ton of answers ready to fire, but right now, interrupting him was inconceivable. He listened to him as if his life depended on it. The pain in his chest he hadn’t even realized was there grew. ‘After you were gone, becoming a dad helped me. A lot. And Pepper… she knew… she understood. She wasn’t mad at me. She supported me through everything, even when it broke her own heart. It’s true, what you said. She’ll still be there no matter what, but Pete… It’s not easy. Not easy at all. I guess that’s just what I’m trying to say. When you came back… it was too much, you know? I should’ve called you, thanked you… for saving my life… No, let me finish. I was paralyzed. By fear. I was a coward. Hush!’ Peter closed his mouth again, but it was hard. ‘And then, what those aliens did to me… It’s like… It’s like my own body isn’t mine anymore, you know? It’s really, really weird. Everybody told me to go to therapy. I did. A little. With Susan. She’s great, isn’t she? Didn’t help. At all. My fucking arm’s still gone. I still feel like shit. And I still feel like a pervert when I touch you. Can’t help it. And that thing inside me, that… that _ process _ … Is that weird that I don’t wanna get any younger? That I don’t even wanna get stronger? That I actually want to _ age? _ To grow old?’

‘I miss my former body sometimes… Sorry, sorry, go on.’

‘There’s something about the possibility of…’ he stopped, unsure whether he should go on. Peter waited, patiently giving him some time. ‘I don’t want my life to be too long.’

‘Too long?’

‘Yes. Have you ever thought about that? You outliving everybody you love because of your powers?’

‘Like Cap?’

Tony winced, clearly hurt to hear that name. He nodded.

‘I—I have… but at first I thought that I might get cancer or something, because of… what happened. But then I was okay, the docs here are telling me that I’m okay, and I’m just… happy now just to be okay, I guess…’

‘What happened?’

‘What?’

‘What happened to you… Your turn.’

Peter felt stunned for a moment. He had been bracing himself for the inevitable break-up, _ again _, but it hadn’t come, and now he was asking him about his powers? He blinked, gulped, readjusted himself on the couch and Tony had a flashback of him sitting just like that, looking at him with the exact same expression all those years ago in his small bedroom in Queens.

_ ‘Look, when you can do the things that I can, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.’ _

He was the same person and yet had changed so much, and not just because of his wider jaw. 

Peter had never told him, and for good reasons. He opened and closed his mouth several times, searching for a way not to make Tony freak out. It was Tony who spoke first, knocking the air out of his lungs.

‘You went snooping in a Stark plant.’

‘You—you— you know?’

Tony didn’t. Not really. And Peter confirmed it, just like that. It sent chills down his spine. ‘Shit…’

‘Oh God, you didn’t. You didn’t know!’

‘Had a hunch... Shit! Shit!’

‘It’s not your fault!’

‘Shit…’

‘It’s 100% not your fault, listen! I’ll tell you… I’ll tell you what happened.’

‘I knew it… Shit, I knew it…’

‘I—I had this idea… for months and it wouldn’t leave my head... It was kind of…’ he took a deep breath before going on, ‘…a way to collect chemical characteristics of some cells and then transfer them to other ones… I thought… if I modified cells without killing them to a level that had never been reached before then… then…’

‘Dear God…’

‘I thought… I thought that would earn me a lot of money, that I would finally be able to help May out… We were kind of broke after… after my uncle passed away… had a lot of debts and… I felt useless. I felt so useless. I couldn’t work, not really, I was too young… And so… at first I tried doing it at school… but I needed advanced equipment… microscopes, an incubator… and… and…’

‘An arc reactor.’

‘Right…’

‘Shit. How the hell—'

‘I pretended to be a contest winner. Forged the forms, the pass ID cards, the certificate… It was right after Stark Expo, and there had been a contest with lots of winners so… I showed up with a computer I’d made from scratch and it was easy. I mingled with the other kids, almost got caught a few times... I was so disappointed when you didn’t show up to the ceremony…’

‘What year was it? ’15?’

‘Yeah…’

‘The year of the inauguration of the new power plant…’

‘Right… They gave us a tour… and then I just… hid inside of a hangar... All I had to do was sneak out of our group while we were visiting it. Since I wasn’t on any of their lists, I guess they didn’t even realize I was even gone.’

‘Number four…’

‘You—how do you know!?’

‘Happy gave me a call while I was in Japan… told me there had been an inexplicable power failure in the brand new plant… shit… God… he told there had been an intruder… that they hadn’t been able to identify him…’

‘I hid my face with a scarf…’

‘... that he was shown fiddling with some controls of reactor number four for a while before receiving up to fifty million volts right up his stupid little ass! What were you _ thinking?’ _

‘But it worked. Just not how I’d planned it…’

‘What the hell were you even _ trying _ to do?’

‘I—I never could remember exactly…’

‘What?’

‘I tried to… but it was all kind of a blur after the blast… all of my notes got destroyed… my clothes too… all I can recall now is that I had brought my samples with me, my notes as I’ve already said, and my guinea pig… a spider… I find mice _ way _ too cute for that. So I chose a spider. I used to hate them… kinda still do… ironic, I know… Anyways, I got to work… I remembered feeling so excited… like I’d just… figured out something big… something revolutionary... and then I just… messed up somehow… and then, when I woke up, I realized all the power was gone, so I escaped… I was in shock… but I saw that all the security cameras had been switched off… I was naked… in— in pain… It hurt... a lot… and my senses— Then I found some clothes in a—’

‘How the_ fuck _ did you think this was a good idea? You almost killed yourself!’

‘Well, that was part of my plan, actually.’

_ ‘What?’ _

‘Well, not part of my plan _ per se, _no, no, hang on, I didn’t mean— Oh shit, no, no, no, no, sorry, I take that back. Listen, what I’m saying is: I was… I was aware of the risks, let’s put it like that.’

‘What did you just say…’

‘I knew what I was getting myself into.’

‘You wanted to die? That was _ suicide?’ _

‘No. No, that’s not what I said! That is definitely not what I said!’

‘That’s exactly what you’ve just said! You said it was part of your plan!’

‘I didn’t _ want _ to die, I just… I just thought it wouldn’t be so bad if I did, s’all.’

‘You—_ What?’ _

‘After Ben died— Sorry.’

‘No, go on.’

Peter suddenly couldn’t speak. He swallowed his saliva and took in a shaky breath before continuing. ‘I guess dying was kind of… kind of an option, a possible side effect that didn’t really scare me. Not as much as it should have, at least… and… and maybe even attracted me a little, I don’t know. I was kinda depressed. And lonely. But I didn’t _ want _ to die.’

‘You entered one of the most hazardous places on the planet and hacked an arc reactor, effectively electrocuting yourself, but no, that wasn’t suicide.’

‘No, it wasn’t. I was trying to gather enough energy to—’

‘Oh, cut the bullshit!’

‘Hey, why are you so angry all of a sudden?!’

‘Why am I _ angry? _You almost killed yourself!’

‘That was ages ago!’

‘And that means I almost killed you!’

‘What? What the hell? That wasn’t you!’

‘Happy had been warning me about the lack of security of the new plant for months, ever since the first plans, and I didn’t give a shit about it…’

‘Tony, calm down.’ 

‘Couldn’t care less… And now you’re like this…’

‘I did this to myself!’

‘I couldn’t protect you even when I didn’t even know you…’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake! Stop taking credit for something you didn’t do!’ The thought of Beck popped up in his mind and he cringed, but he didn’t stop. ‘_ I _ created Spider-Man, by accident, yeah, maybe, but _ I _ did it, not you! And then you took me under your wing, you made me a suit, you _ protected _ me, saved me in that lake, in outer space, on Titan, and _ I _have saved so many people since that day I became Spider-Man! I’ve helped more people than I can count! The world needs Spider-Man just as it needs Iron Man! And you inspire me! Every day! You’ve always inspired me, you were the reason why I even got into science in the first place, the reason I am who I am today but not in a bad way, no, in the best possible way! You gave me everything, and now you’re making me feel so good every time we touch, so, so good, and no, I’m not gonna sing that song even if I really want to right now, god, what is wrong with me…’

Suddenly, Tony was all over him. He had a faint five o’clock shadow around his beard. It prickled Peter’s hands who had immediately flown to his face. He tasted so fucking good, and now they couldn’t stop. Every single time it felt like his soul was flying high with Tony’s, both of them leaving this earth together, getting free. Yes, they were free when they kissed like that, Tony’s large dimly-lit bedroom their own world, their own bubble shielding them from everybody else.

‘How are you?’ Peter said in the middle of an embrace, both of them now shirtless on Tony’s bed.

Tony froze. _ Okay, what? _ ‘Fine, and you?’

‘No, seriously, how are you? No sarcasm.’

‘No sarcasm? You’re asking a shark not to bite.’

‘You’re not answering me.’

‘Nah-ha, I just did.’

‘I want you to be happy.’

Tony sighed against his hair.

‘And I want _ you _to be happy.’

‘I want you to feel good...’

‘Pete…’

‘I wanna make you feel good...’

‘Peter…’

‘Ask me to stop and I will.’ 

They kissed and kissed and kissed, so much that Tony’s goatee burnt Peter’s chin and his moustache chafed his lips and it was heaven. Soon, their pants and boxers were gone. _ Finally together again. _Tony chuckled when he saw Peter’s rainbow socks.

‘Want me to keep these on?’

‘Do as you please, honey.’

Peter did. He kept them on.

‘I love it when you call me honey’, Peter whispered against his lips after another onslaught of delicious kisses.

Soft skin against soft skin, hardness against hardness, they both wanted it to last this time, to take their sweet time, to linger and bask in each other’s arms in this blissful state for as long as possible. It was Peter who eventually couldn’t take it anymore.

‘Do it… do it to me... I want you to... I want you to so, so much!’

‘I can’t… do anything to you right now… without cumming on the spot.’

‘I can wait.’

‘Pete…’

‘Alright, I’ll do it myself then.’

‘Hey!’

Peter was the one on top now. He straddled Tony on his knees, took his rock-hard cock in his hand, and then began to rub his ass with the tip of it.

‘Sweet mother of _ God.’ _

‘Where’s your lube?’ Peter smiled.

‘This isn’t how it works.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Well, I do. Get off, Spider-Man, shoo!’

‘Nope.’

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, and emotion started clouding their eyes.

‘You really want to, don’t you…’

‘I do. I really, really do.’

Tony visibly gulped. ‘Will be no turning back...’

‘Oh my god, you make it sound like we’re about to commit a crime or something.’

‘I’d make a really inappropriate joke right now if this weren’t serious.’

Peter abruptly went down upon him, grabbed his wrists and pinned him to the bed.

‘Go ahead, sir, I’m listening.’

‘Shit…’

‘You think I can’t take it?’

‘Pete, stop. Don’t wanna ruin this moment.’

His words took Peter aback. ‘What?’

Emotion once again swelled both their hearts.

‘Alright.’

‘Yeah?’

‘But you gotta promise to stop me if—

‘I promise.’

‘If it hurts too much.’

‘I promise.’

‘If you feel too uncomfortable.’

‘I promise.’

‘We can try again if that happens, it’s okay.’

‘I promise.’

‘You don’t need to feel—’

‘God! And I thought I was the one who couldn’t shut up!’ Peter teased, gently putting a hand against his mouth. ‘Where’s your lube?’

After a few contortions to reach the bedside table, he was back on top of Tony with the little bottle and a condom, suddenly quite nervous. His chest tightened when he realized his own hands were trembling. Tony rested his hands on his thighs. His cold one wasn’t as cold as the other night, but it still made him shudder.

‘This is a bad idea…’

‘No, it’s not. I want to try. And if I don’t like it, I’ll let you know and we’ll stop.’

‘Promise me.’

‘Seriously?!’ 

Tony was quietly chuckling. Peter chuckled too.

The atmosphere quickly got heavy, almost suspenseful. They were laughing anymore now, letting deep emotions take over instead, even though Peter couldn’t help but imagine a drumroll of anticipation in his head.

_ This is it. _

He squeezed the bottle too hard, not minding his own strength, and almost the entire content of lube burst out of it in a big blob that went flying above the bed before splashing on the floor right before the window wall.

‘Oops.’

He had never seen Tony laugh so hard. It was uncontrollable, irresistibly contagious and wonderfully cathartic. It lasted for quite a while, both of them laughing so forcefully that their cheeks were glistening with tears.

‘Oh shit… oh fuck.... that was priceless… Thank you for that!’

‘You’re welcome! Don’t worry, there’s another one. Let me just…’

Peter went for the drawer once again. Thank God for the two other bottles there. Tony used a lot of lube… He stored that piece of information at the back of his mind for later study. 

He stared at the condom packet. 

‘Should… should we really use a condom? I’d like… I mean, I’m not asking you not to, it’s just that—’

‘I’m clean. Your choice.’

‘Okay... I’d like to feel you without one then.’

Tony shut his eyes at that. _ Jesus... _

Peter was still feeling the aftershocks of their glorious fit of laughter when he started coating his fingers with the slippery gel, very carefully this time. Tony hissed as Peter stroked his stiff length. The knowledge of what was about to happen… It was overwhelming, there was no other word… For both of them.

Peter didn’t waste any time. He took his cock and gently guided him right where he wanted him.

‘Wait—’ Tony started just as he slowly lowered onto him. Too late. He gasped. They both frowned at the same time, but Tony didn’t close his eyes, unlike Peter. 

For a dreadful second, Peter thought there was no way it could even get in, his muscles viciously resisting the foreign invasion. The stretching sensation he had felt while experimenting alone had been nothing compared to this._ Holy shit, I’m such an idiot, I should’ve bought a bigger dildo _ . _ Fuck! _ He was tense, far too tense, even if he was far more relaxed than the first time he’d played with himself like this. And to think that was just the tip of it… He sank down around it as much as he could and tried to breathe slowly, tried to relax, but to no avail. 

It hurt. It just did.

‘Stop’, came Tony’s voice. It was an order, his voice deep and firm.

‘No, no, no, no, I’m okay, it’s just—’

‘I said stop. Let me.’

Peter opened his eyes, not having realized he had shut them tight, and looked down at Tony, who sat up to meet him, pulling him into a hug. Peter’s body rejected his cock as they moved. It slid out, and that was a relief.

‘I don’t want you to… to…’

‘It’s okay, we can try later…’ Tony tenderly said, kissing his ear.

‘You know… with your fingers…’

‘Sshhh.’

‘I don’t really… want you to do it… but… but if it’s the only way…’

‘I said sshh.’

‘I’m ready.’

Tony sighed. ‘It’s not the only way but it helps. A lot. But not today, honey… Why don’t we just—’

‘I want to feel you… I want to try again. Please, let me try again.’ Peter broke their hug and looked him in the eye. ‘Please. Just _ try.’ _Tony seemed to think about it, and then, he gave him a timid, almost reluctant nod.

‘You’ll let me prepare you?’

‘I tried to… you know… I mean today… make myself… ready. Before our date. I cleaned myself and…’

‘You did well. But it’s not enough. And my fingers won’t be either.’

‘But it’s a start.’

‘Yes.’

Tony peppered his face with kisses. ‘God, you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush like that… Sweetheart… You know, if we stop tonight, there—’

‘God no! Stop saying we should stop!’

Tony looked at him, searching for something in his eyes, then said: ‘Okay.’

Their lips met again for a long moment after which Peter lay on his back, feeling apprehensive but so turned on it almost didn’t matter.

‘I don’t understand why it didn’t work… I thought I had done a lot already to—to…’

Tony stilled. He hesitated a little before speaking. 'You're special. It might take more time with your metabolism. But we'll figure it out. And anyways, it's not exactly easy even for regular folk. You gotta train your body to do something it wasn’t designed to do. Like gymnastics or ballet.’

‘Did you just compare anal sex to ballet?’

‘I sure did.’

While he was speaking, Tony squirted a large amount of lube into his left hand and started gently touching Peter; his cock first, slow superficial strokes along it, not fully taking him into his hand, and then his balls, massaging them while softly pressing below them. His right hand joined the game, lightly stroking his cock, still without circling it, and suddenly, the whole thing was too much.

‘Wait… Your hands… You’re gonna make me cum.’

Tony’s hand stilled. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, sorry…’

‘No, don’t be.’

‘And…’

‘And?’

‘This is weird…’

‘Wanna stop?’

‘No, God no. It’s just… you looking at me like this… I feel…’

‘Exposed.’

‘Yeah…’

‘Perfectly natural.’

‘But I don’t want you to stop.’

‘Look at me.’

Peter let out a little embarrassed laugh after being able to sustain his gaze for no more than two seconds. ‘I can’t.’

‘I’m not doing anything if you don’t look at me right now.’

He did. 

‘You trust me?’ Tony then asked.

‘Yes. Yes, I do. I do trust you.’

‘Try to relax, close your eyes if you want, take deep breaths, talk to me if you feel the need to.’

He was slowly stroking him again, with his human hand, the lube and the simple fact that it was his hand making it feel so fucking good.

‘I’m not gonna last…’

‘It’s okay, I can make you come again later… more than twice. Ready?’ Peter nodded and Tony’s middle finger suddenly poked _ right there _. He entered him relatively easily. Expertly.

‘Oh God. Okay. Okay. Oh my god. That’s—’

‘Weird?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good weird or bad weird?’

‘I—I don’t— oh God…’

‘Shit.’

‘Oh!’

‘Don’t hide your face from me… Pete… I wanna see you. Please.’

‘It’s so embarrassing!’

‘Why?’

‘Why? You—your finger’s inside my butt!’

‘Wanna stop?’

‘No! Keep—keep going!’

‘Then stop hiding your face. You can still close your eyes, but I need to see you. Please.’

‘There. Satisfied?’

‘Very.’

Tony moved his finger, triggering a full body shiver that made Peter swear. He chuckled, trying to hook his finger inside of him but finding it particularly hard. Gently, he inserted his index as well. 

‘Holy shit… Oh God.’ Peter gasped.

His muscles were very tense, unusually hard for that part of the body, and Tony tried not to let his own doubts ruin the moment. The young superhero was breathing hard. He watched his naked chest, his pretty nipples as they were ardently moving up and down. He was once again hiding his face, in both his hands now.

‘It’s okay, you can hide if you want’, Tony said. ‘Simply imagining your face is enough for me.’

Of course, Peter then removed his hands from his face. He couldn’t meet his eyes, though. He watched the ceiling, struggling not to moan like a… like a girl. Tony parted his legs a little more, holding up his left thigh with his cold hand, and he watched his parted lips, his face distorted by uncertain pleasure, watched that boy, that man, that human being who was ruining his life in the most wonderful way as he was being touched for the first time. He was so beautiful. His eyes welled up as Peter released his first moan, followed by another little laugh of embarrassment, and he hid his eyes once again under the back of his hand. His cheeks were flushed. Tony couldn’t look away. He tried to stretch him but he was so tight he could barely move his fingers apart. He had to really push to hook them and suddenly Peter jerked, a spasm, and his breathing stopped. When it resumed, he sounded like a drowning man. Tony did it again, gently, pressing his prostate in a rhythm that matched his own heartbeat. Peter stopped breathing again, until he let out the most adorable mewl. A strong wave of love hit Tony so hard tears spilled from his eyes and he bent over in part to hide them in case Peter looked and by pure desire to make him feel even better, to give him pure ecstasy, now,_ right_ _now._ He kissed the tender skin of his hip and stomach, the dark patch of hair at the base of his cock, then took him into his mouth, just like that, with no warning, and he never once stopped the little movement of his fingers inside of him.

‘I—’ Peter didn’t finish his sentence, the mind-blowing orgasm Tony knew would come quickly hitting him. He gasped before his superhuman hips violently bucked, almost making Tony fly off him, but the older superhero was ready. He clung to him, his prosthetic hand securely gripping his left hip, his fingers not slipping out, being squeezed inside his body, and he managed to keep him deep inside his mouth upon the first squirt of cum, even when Peter’s legs thrashed about a couple of times. Peter sang, or at least that was how it sounded to Tony—several distinct notes, going up and down and then up again, a sweet melody of pleasure punctuated by a final ‘Oh, Tony’ that almost made the older man sob. 

‘God, you’re beautiful…’

‘Take me.’

‘So beautiful…’

‘Do it, take me, take me now.’

‘Not yet.’

‘Please, please…’

‘You need a minute.’

‘No, please, I don’t, please…’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘I said I don’t! Please… Tony… please fuck me. I want you, I want you to, please! Pleeeaaase…’

How could anyone resist this? Tony was only human. Only human, despite everything.

‘You sure?’

‘Yes! Oh, yes, God yes! Yes! Please! Wanna feel you…’

Peter’s thighs were trembling as Tony pushed the same fingers into him again. He was trembling himself but out of effort, effort not to take him right away, not to plunge and pound into him like a fucking animal. He attempted to work him open while struggling to keep his own breathing as evenly as possible. He was gentle, peppering him with kisses during the whole thing, telling him over and over that he was so beautiful, that he was perfect, and Peter was in a trance, panting like mad, almost writhing on the sheets, begging him to fuck him over and over and even though he was far too tight still, Tony eventually felt his control crumbling.

‘You’re too tight.’

‘Please… I don’t care if it hurts… Please…’

‘Pete…’

‘I want you to hurt me...’

‘Oh my god…

‘Please… Tony… Tony… Tony…’

He snapped right then. In an instant he felt delirious, in his own trance, perhaps the same as Peter’s. His body moved on his own. In no time he grabbed himself and pushed slowly into him, not because he was being careful but because Peter’s powerful body didn’t allow him to go any faster. Peter cried out. He had hooked his legs over his arms and he leaned down to kiss him, to look at him, his face against his, his eyes all he wanted to see. Peter’s were closed. 

‘Look at me. Talk to me’, Tony rasped, almost cried.

He wasn’t even half way in but he couldn’t go any deeper. His own brow was furrowed. Peter was too tight. It hurt. It hurt and it felt so fucking good he could barely see.

‘Peter…’ 

Peter couldn’t talk. 

‘Peter… talk… talk to me… Fuck! Tell me to stop!’

‘No!’ was all Peter could manage.

‘You’re too tight… God, you’re so tight I— I’m not gonna move for a while, okay?’

‘Please don’t stop.’

Tony stayed inside of him but didn’t move, just as he had told him, and despite the painful glitch in their lovemaking, the spell of their respective trances wasn’t lifted. Tony was inside Peter and Peter was around Tony and that fact made their minds enter another plane of existence. Peter felt him kiss his face over and over again from far, far away, heard his voice but couldn’t make out the words, until he was able to kiss him back a little, feeling like a ghost floating back into his own body, and slowly, very slowly, he relaxed, melting into his touch, fully embracing his body figuratively as well as physically, and Tony went deeper and deeper until they were completely joined.

‘So tight… so tight… shit, you’re so tight, so fucking tight…’

‘Does it hurt?’

‘No’, Tony answered. It was only half a lie after all. Peter somehow understood. Both that it was a lie and that it wasn’t. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah’, Peter answered, uncertain.

‘Sure?’

‘I… it’s… overwhelming… too big…’

‘Wanna stop?’

‘No. I love it. I love you.’

‘God, I love you too. I love you too, Peter… Oh, my Peter… I love you...’

‘Please… say it again… please.’

Tony did. Over and over again as they kissed and looked into each other’s eyes. So close… Windows into each other’s souls... They were both crying now and without meaning to, Tony moved, pulling back and pushing into him. Peter cried out.

‘Oh my god!’ he cried, and it sounded so much like despair, the expression on his face—with his eyebrows lifted high and tears spilling from his eyes—so close to one of deep sorrow. Tony was enraptured. 

‘Tell me to stop’, he begged him.

‘No! Keep going!’ Peter sobbed.

‘Peter…’

‘Take me! Hurt me!’

‘Oh fuck.’

‘Tony!’

Tony moved again, and Peter had a sort of little epiphany at that moment. It was so strange, to be on the receiving end when he had been on the other side in a similar situation before. He thought about MJ. 

And then he thought about nothing at all.

Their cries of pleasure were rough, broken, half moans, half grunts, both torn as they were between pleasure and pain, caught in a wave of sensations and emotions so intense they couldn’t even hear themselves or each other. During that tiny, insignificant stretch of time, they were floating above time itself, free from memory, from thought, from existence. There was little difference between the seconds leading up to their orgasms and their orgasms themselves; it was all a long white stretch of nothing, of everything, of quiet void and explosive meaning.

It is quite an unsettling thought to realize that you didn’t really know something after decades of considering yourself an expert in it. Reflecting on that moment afterwards, Tony found it baffling. How the hell had he never felt like that before, after all the things he’d done, after all the people he’d been with? Was it another after-effect of the treatment? Were his senses somehow heightened like Peter’s now? Or had he never truly been in love before after all? Was it just that, what sex felt like with someone you were truly in love with? He thought about Pepper, about her question and his lack of answer, but he couldn’t accept the fact that he had never really been in love with her. It was absurd. Laughable. And yet…

He came first. Peter seconds later, a hand around his cock all it took for him to explode. 

What happened when Peter came didn’t surprise him. He’d thought about that possibility but had always pushed it at the back of his mind. Why? Maybe it was his old self-destructive tendencies, maybe simply because he’d been scared. Scared and irresponsible. Routine, really. His mind was so blissed out that the abrupt pain almost made him faint. Pain, sharp pain shot up from his penis still buried deep inside of Peter. He was lifted forward but didn’t even realize it. He cried out. He saw it in his mind, his cock getting squished, crushed, maimed. He cried out again, but this time it was a howl. He was going to die and he howled as much from the release of it as from the pain itself.

It turned out Peter’s body hadn’t maimed him at all. Just squeezed so hard it had felt like it. He was okay. He knew it after Peter’s muscles released him suddenly, still tight but not painfully so anymore, and he pulled out, breathless, heart dangerously hammering in his chest but holding on, not stopping, not failing—how, he didn’t know. There was blood on him. His? Peter’s?

‘You okay?’

Peter beat him to it, and it felt horribly wrong. He shouldn’t be asking _ him _ that question, but the other way round. Tony’s automatic ‘Always.’ got stuck in his throat.

‘Tony? Tony? What—Oh my god, I hurt you! I hurt you!’

‘Incoming call from Happy, boss’, Friday’s voice announced out of nowhere, making both of them start.

‘Tell him we’re fine. I’ll see him tomorrow’, Tony instantly said, before suddenly moving away and dropping to the floor.

‘Tony!’ came Peter’s high, tearful voice. He was sobbing now.

‘I’m fine... I’m fine... Don’t worry... Just need… to catch my breath.’

‘I hurt you…’

‘It’s okay, I’m fine. I hurt you, didn’t I?’

‘I—’

‘See? Same thing. Are you okay?’

‘Yes.’

‘Same. I swear.’

‘Okay.’

‘Fri?’

‘Yes, boss?’

‘Who heard us?’

‘Two security guards. They immediately contacted Happy, as per the direct threat protocol.’

‘What?’ Peter weakly exclaimed.

‘Thanks Fri.’

‘Anytime, boss.’ 

‘Direct threat? What threat?’

‘Fri… one more thing… is Peter okay?’

Peter stared at him, stunned.

‘I believe his modified metabolism will allow him to avoid the lingering pain that generally comes after anal intercourse, boss. His advanced healing—’

‘Is Tony okay, Fri?’ Peter loudly blurted out, interrupting the A.I.

‘Don’t answer him.’

‘I suggest asking him yourself, Peter.’

‘Oh, wow! Great idea! Hadn’t thought about that!’

‘Pete…’

‘I am okay, thank you very much! Now, come back here, come up here, come on.’

‘I—’

‘Sshh, come on, let me help you up… That’s it… Okay, now listen to me, are you listening? Tony!’

‘Yep!’

‘I’m okay! It was amazing, incredible, it hurt, yeah, it still hurts, but you heard Friday, right? I’m okay and I love you and this absolutely blew my fucking mind and—’

Tony interrupted him with a kiss. It was too rough a kiss. And then he was crying, just like that. Peter, once again, was stunned.

‘Fuck, I love you…’ Tony said between sobs. ‘I’m sorry. Shit…’

‘It’s okay. It’s okay. I freaked out when I hurt MJ. But now I understand what she felt, what it felt like for her, even if, yeah, it’s not the same, but I get it. I get it now. Please believe me when I tell you that I’m okay because I really, really am. I mean, you made me come! Are you—are you okay?’

Tony had managed to pull himself together. He had to tell him the truth.

‘It hurt like hell.’

Peter’s face fell.

‘What?’

‘I’m okay, but… yeah, when you came… your body’s really strong, you know that. Well, that includes your tight little touchie.’

Peter didn’t laugh.

‘But I’m okay. And it was so fucking good before that...’ Peter was staring at him in a way he didn’t like at all. He was about to cry again. ‘Isn’t it poetic? I hurt you, you hurt me. We’re even. But we’re both okay now. Alright?’ Still no response. ‘I’m okay’, he repeated. ‘Super-healing and all that.’ Still nothing. ‘Are you gonna start freaking out? Are you freaking out right now? After that little speech you gave me? Wouldn’t make much sense, now, wouldn’t it? Don’t you agree? Wouldn’t you agree? Pete?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay, come here.’

‘You screamed.’

‘What? No.’

‘I made you scream in pain.’

‘Don’t get all dramatic like that.’

‘That’s why that protocol was activated. It must have scared the shit out of Happy.’

‘Probably, yeah.’

‘I made you scream.’

‘Oh, stop it, I didn’t _ scream, _ and it was out of surprise too.’

‘I thought it was out of pleasure…’

‘Baby, let’s not debate how good you can make me feel, alright?’

‘What if I hurt you like that every single time?’

‘Stop thinking. Stop worrying.’

‘Oh my god…’

‘Hey! That’s not fair! Why are you allowed to freak out when I’m not? Okay, I’ll freak out too then. Oh my goooood, whyyy!’

‘It’s serious! It’s a serious issue!’

‘I don’t care if you hurt me!’ Tony shouted.

Peter stared at him. ‘You were crying because of it just now. You said it hurt like hell!’

‘We’ll figure it out. Every couple has issues.’

‘You—we’re—’

‘And I was letting some steam out. It happens. Do you care if I hurt you? Do you trust me?’

‘I—’

‘Answer me.’

‘I trust you.’

‘And I trust you. And I don’t care if you hurt me.’

‘I—Okay.’

‘Glad that’s settled. Now tell me how you manufactured your web fluid.’

‘My—what?’

‘You heard me. Tell me how you did it from scratch. From start to finish. Shoot.’

They ended up sharing stories for hours, Peter about his high school days and Tony about hilarious moments in his life that had never reached the prying ears of any journalists. They nuzzled against each other under the heavy covers, happy in their own little cocoon, and Peter was pleasantly surprised at how normal and relaxed Tony looked now. And he looked younger, even younger than when he’d first met him. They talked about that new issue again, both agreeing to avoid anal sex for a while. They made love again twice. Rubbing against one another wasn’t enough now, though, so they jerked and blew each other off. Peter was surprised at how intense a simple handjob could turn out to be, but after all, Tony was an expert.

‘How many men did you sleep with?’

‘Haha! More than I can count!’

‘Really?’

‘Oh yeah. You should’ve seen me in ‘98. That was a wild, wild year. My gayest year by far.’

‘After 2024’, Peter corrected with a big smile.

‘Mmmh…’ Tony chuckled.

The next night, they slept together again. It was a long night filled with pleasure, laughter and yes, _ peace. _ It was perhaps the happiest in their entire lives. 

* * *

May had tried to avoid using Amazon ever since they had moved in here, but now that the three little cardboard boxes of the books she’d ordered were here, resting on the table before her, she wondered why she had resisted for so long. It was Peter who had made her finally yield, tempting her with how fast and easy it had been for him to buy stuff.

‘Oh fuck it’, she had said out loud before the final click that sealed her order.

Two Margaret Atwood books and a Japanese novel a friend from work had recommended to her. Perfect. She had read all the novels in the penthouse library already, or at least the ones that had seemed interesting. Ordering books online, since it was rather unsafe for her to go out on her own and she adamantly refused to go shopping with bodyguards, had been another natural step in her slow transformation into Rapunzel. Her hair was down to her hip now, and she was, after all, pretty much locked up. She sighed. With a nice cup of tea, a few biscuits and some liquor-filled chocolate, her Friday afternoon was all set now. 

She whistled as she put the kettle on and prepared her little tray, then grabbed her big scissors to unwrap the small boxes. One was slightly bigger than the others. She started with it.

She blinked. Then she guffawed. Then she shrieked, laughing her ass off.

‘What the hell? Oh my god! What the—’

That wasn’t a book. That was a fucking dildo. A seven-inch dildo, it said on the box above a picture of it in all its hyper realistic glory. 

She immediately called her friend Suzie.

‘Oh my god, honey! Hello!’ She managed to say through her uncontrollable laughter.

‘May? What’s going on? Oh my god, tell me!’

‘Oh…Oh this is so good… I ordered books from Amazon…’

‘Wait, honey, you gotta stop laughing like that, I can’t even make out what you’re saying!’

Her friend was already giggling along even before she knew why.

‘I said… I ordered books! Books! From Amazon! And guess what… guess… guess what I found instead!’

‘Oh my god, I don’t know!’

‘Guess!’

‘I don’t know! A... a sex toy?’

‘Yes!’ May shrieked, tears of laughter clouding her vision. She took her thick glasses off.

‘Oh my god, you’re kidding.’

‘No!’

‘Oh my god!’

‘It’s a dildo!’ She cried out as if this were a gender reveal party.

Suzie cackled.

‘I swear to god, I had never ordered anything online before in my entire life! I hate how it’s so bad for small businesses! This was my first time!’ she wheezed.

‘Pic or it didn’t happen!’

‘Hang on!’ May squeaked. ‘Oh my god, I can’t stop laughing! My stomach!’

They laughed together for another good five minutes, Suzie rendered absolutely unable to speak once she received May’s picture on her phone.

‘This is… this is… this is _ gold _.’

‘I know!’

‘But... how the hell did this happen?’

‘How should I know? Who knows what goes on in their warehouses.’

‘Are you sure you didn’t click on anything? Sometimes an ad pops up and maybe, I don’t know...’

‘No, no, no.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes! Yes, I’m sure! Hang on, there’s the receipt’, she said, still laughing. She wiped her cheeks and tried to focus on what the paper said.

‘So?’

‘I don’t even know what I’m looking at. There’s Arjun’s name, our personal assistant…’

‘Oh my god!’

‘No, no, no! That’s just how we order stuff, we use his name.’

‘We?’

May’s face fell.

‘Oh come on, there is no way Peter bought that.’

‘I know, it’s just… it could be a possibility. You know how teenagers watch porn all the time. Maybe he clicked on some ad and...’

‘No, it says here it’s from Amazon. You can’t just click on an ad and then… can you?’

It didn’t make sense. She tried to contact Amazon but got no answer. It couldn’t be Peter who had ordered it. Or maybe he did it as a joke? But there was no way he was in such a mood right now, with all his work in the lab, trying to save Ned… She resolved to simply ask him about it later that night since this was a Friday, and see what would happen.

‘Hey, by the way, you wouldn’t believe what happened to me this afternoon’, she told him once they had both sat down for dinner, Peter already devouring his spaghetti.

‘Tell me!’ he said with his mouth full.

‘I—’ she paused to give a sigh that sounded more like an embarrassed laugh. ‘Okay so here it goes. I ordered three books from Amazon and…’

Peter’s fork clattered against his plate. The look on his face didn’t leave any room for doubt.

‘Oh! _ Oh! _ So that was _ you!’ _

‘What?’ he tried to feign innocence. Very badly so.

May laughed and it was a shrill kind of laugh. ‘You ordered a _ dildo!’ _

‘What? I did not!’

‘Yes, you did!’

‘What—what are you talking about?’

‘Oh come on!’ She was laughing hard again. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie, but this is so funny!’

‘No, I—I can explain.’

‘Oh please, please, do!’

‘It’s—it was—it was as a joke—I didn’t—I mean, of course it wasn’t for _ me.’ _

‘Oh sweetie!’ she wheezed. He was such a bad liar.

‘We—we kind of prank each other in the lab and—and it was just—I just—’

‘Oh my god! Oh, Petey-Pie, I haven’t laughed that hard since 2004! Oh, don’t make that face, it’s—I’m not laughing at you, it’s okay, you know I would never judge you for this, but— I thought it was a book! Oh, sweetie… Hey, Peter, look at me, it’s perfectly okay. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh like that!’

She did laugh, though. A lot. She just couldn’t help it. Peter tried laughing along, he really did, but he found himself completely unable to.

‘So… are you… questioning your sexuality? Or not! I mean, straight men enjoy anal play too.’

‘Oh my god, May!’

‘What? It’s perfectly okay!’

‘I told you, it was for a prank!’

‘Right…’

‘Please… I’d rather not talk about this…’

‘Alright, no problem. No pressure.’ She couldn’t help but giggle. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, honey, I don’t know why I can’t stop. Nerves, probably.’

‘It’s okay. I get it, it’s pretty funny.’

‘But I’m not laughing at you.’

‘I know you’re not.’

Her poor love, he seemed so utterly mortified. He couldn’t meet her gaze afterwards, was all sweaty, barely ate and couldn’t even properly breathe. He escaped to his room right after dinner was over. Before going to bed, she put the little box in front of his door, and the next morning, it was gone.

She only brought the subject again on Sunday night, after a whole weekend of Peter locking himself up in his room when he wasn’t silently sharing his meals with her.

‘Listen… I need to apologize.’

‘No, no, you don’t.’

‘Yes, I do! Let me finish! I’m really sorry for having laughed like that. I just want you to know that experimenting at your age, and even at any age, is perfectly healthy, and I’m proud of you for who you are, no matter what you prefer or who you prefer and—’

‘Thanks. Thank you, May.’

‘I haven’t finished.’

‘Oh please…

‘Just a little bit of advice…’

‘Oh God…’

‘Don’t start with the big ones. You’ll hurt yourself.’

‘May!’

‘You need to order smaller, much smaller ones to start with.’

‘May! Please, I know! I’ve done all the research!’

‘Oh, so it _ is _ for you.’

‘God…’

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry. Just. Do it safely.’

It was just a second, a tiny little second of hesitation, but it was there.

‘Yes.’

May frowned.

‘You’re not… having real sex, are you?’

‘No.’

Too blunt. Too quick.

‘Peter, is there someone?’

‘No!’ he shouted.

Something was off. There it was again, that panicky breath. His embarrassment wasn’t just embarrassment anymore. It was fear.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes. Are you done?’

‘Why are you so stressed all of a sudden?’

‘Because I don’t like talking about sex with you, you’re my aunt! Is it really that surprising?’

He had said that fast. Too fast.

‘I’m just trying to help—’

‘Well, I don’t need any help!’

‘No need to shout at me.’

‘God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Look, I can’t do this right now. I know all about safety, I swear.’

‘Peter…’

‘I’m not ready to talk about that just yet, okay?’

‘Okay…’

He looked on the verge of tears. Something was wrong.

That night May didn’t sleep. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, about how scared he had sounded and looked. She felt guilty. Had she intruded upon his privacy to the point of making him feel that way? Had she shamed him with her damn uncontrollable laughter so much that she had hurt him? She’d been a terrible aunt. Was she homophobic without even knowing it? Despite everything she believed in? After all, why had she laughed like that?

_ But dildos are so funny! _

No, there was more… something beyond her own inappropriate behavior, something unsaid… Why that fear? It was as if he was hiding something from her. Something he definitely didn’t want her to know, to the point of getting scared like that. She had been getting too close to the truth… But what truth?

She really hoped it wasn’t just because he was gay. That meant she had utterly failed at her parenting job. She had thought it obvious that he knew being gay was perfectly fine, but maybe he had needed her to say it, say it more clearly and not fucking laugh about it! She had failed him. She had hurt him. What if things would never be the same between them because of that one terrible mistake? 

At one point during the night, she got up and considered waking him up just to apologize and talk to him again, but she stopped herself. When she woke up the next morning, he was already gone.

She called him immediately. He reassured her at least a dozen times that she hadn’t done anything wrong, that he was okay, that he knew being gay was okay, and that he loved her. He even said she was the best aunt ever and it made her feel so much relief she teared up a little.

But it wasn’t enough.

She made herself some coffee, sat down at the kitchen table and started thinking hard.

He was so immersed in his work in the Avengers’ compound that he couldn’t shut up about it every time he came back, explaining complex stuff to her, trying to dumb it down so she could understand. And yet, for a little more than a week now, during the last two weekends, there had been no enthusiastic lecture, no anecdote, nothing. She knew he was still working hard and never left the place except for occasional walks in the forest. Happy had told her that last Wednesday. So, there was no way he’d met someone. There was no kid there. Was there? And yet his body had spoken for him. It had done something when she’d asked him if he was seeing anyone. He had been lying, she was almost sure of it.

Unless… Unless he’d met someone during one of his weekend patrols. Maybe he hadn’t even been patrolling at all. This seemed like the most likely solution. It would explain the lying, maybe some of the shame…

But then… then a thought crept up on her like slow poison.

The way Peter had acted… it reminded her of someone else.

Tony Stark. 

New Year’s Eve. He hadn’t showed up again at the party after their little conversation. He’d been gone, had simply vanished, just like that. And she hadn’t been the only one to frown at his sudden disappearance.

Short breaths, quick words, hardly any eye contact and a sudden escape.

But no. Why was she even thinking about this? No, this was ridiculous.

Peter… Peter… She tried to remember how he had been that night, but couldn’t recall any moment with him after her conversation with Stark except the final countdown. He had been cheering and applauding like everyone else. But then…

Then, the party hadn’t been over at all, but he’d left nonetheless, saying he was too tired. He’d gone to their suite to sleep. He’d left her alone with the others. A few minutes after midnight. Everyone had been there. Everyone. Everyone except him and Tony Stark.

_ No. No. You’re being paranoid. He was just tired. And maybe Stark was too, and that’s it! _

They spent all their days together. Peter and him.

_ Stop. _

Peter admired him. Revered him, even.

_ Stop. _

The billionaire had taken him under his wing. Made him a multi-million-dollar suit. _ Suits _, plural.

_ Stop. _

He’d sent him money. A lot of money.

_ No. _

Offered him this luxurious penthouse at the heart of Manhattan.

_ No. No. He’s married. _

_ Divorcing. _

_ He’s divorcing. _

** _He’s divorcing!_ **

This was too much. Too much. Suddenly, she remembered Happy’s weird behavior. It was too much. Too much. Too many coincidences for them to be coincidences at all. She sprang to her feet, and her heart began to hammer.

No, no, this couldn’t be it. They had to be coincidences, or there were certainly logical explanations to all of them. 

_ God, please, no. I’m being paranoid. I’m rambling. This can’t be it! _

‘You’ve reached the voice mail of… Happy Hogan.’

‘Happy, I swear to God, if you don’t call me back _ right now _, I’m never gonna call you ever again!’

‘May? May, what’s going on?!’

‘I know! I know everything!’

‘What?’

‘Did you know? _ Did you know?’ _

‘May, calm down, what are you talking about? What happened?’

‘Peter! With—with _ him!’ _

She needed to be reassured. She needed him to be shocked by her assumption, to make her understand how wrong she was, to call her crazy. Instead, the only thing she got was dead silence. Happy spoke, but too late. He stammered.

‘Wait… What—how—what exactly do you know…’

She blindly stepped backwards to safely collapse onto the couch. Chilling fear rushed up her veins at the confirmation that no, she hadn’t been dreaming any of this. Peter was seeing someone. A man.

_ Calm down. He’s probably seeing someone his age. An intern or something, maybe a bit older, working with them in the compound. _

‘I’m not feeling very well’, she said.

‘May, I—I don’t know what happened but I can tell you this: Peter’s okay. Everything’s fine.’

‘Swear to me.’

‘I—I swear.’

‘You hesitated.’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Yes, you did.’

‘May, listen—’

‘Is it Tony Stark…’

Her entire world crumbled down as Happy didn’t reply for a couple of seconds. She knew then. She knew that it was true. She barely heard his answer when it finally came. ‘What? What—what makes you think that?’

She dropped her phone. It landed next to her on the couch. She just sat there, faintly aware of the fact that Happy was shouting now. Then she began to cry, hot tears of guilt, her eyes unconsciously fixing the same lamp the entire time, because she was in shock, she couldn’t move, she could just cry. She saw herself that day, that day in that hospital, already knowing and yet not really knowing that Ben was gone, before that doctor slowly walked over to her with sad eyes and she knew, confirmation like a sword finally falling upon her head after hours of anguish. 

All this time, for _ years _, she had failed to protect Peter. To protect him from that predator. And yet she had known. She had known who that man was. She had known and had chosen to turn a blind eye. Naive, stupid, irresponsible. That was what she had been. And it was Peter who had paid the price. Peter, her Peter… Peter who had been through so much… so much already… 

How was she supposed to live with herself now?

In her mind, there was absolutely no doubt that he had raped him. Manipulated him, preyed upon him, _ groomed _him, with all his money and fame, and the thrill of that superhero life. She felt nauseous. With a gasp of horror, she remembered his first Iron Man poster. Ben had helped him hang it on his bedroom door. How old had he been then? Eight? Nine? With terrible clarity, she remembered the bright smile that had lit up his cute little face upon showing it to her for the first time.

Peter’s fearful face from the previous night was a terrible contrast.

And now, right now, he was heading back to _ him _ . To that pedophile. No, by now, he was already there. In Upstate New York, with _ him. _

She stood up with a teary cry just as Arjun came bursting into the living room.

They had not once interacted during that party, it suddenly dawned on her. Not once. Mentor and mentee, avoiding each other, and then suddenly disappearing. He had raped him that night. He had raped her Peter while she had been getting even more drunk, playing stupid games and laughing her ass off until 4am.

‘Ma’am! Ma’am, are you alright? Mr. Hogan is insisting you pick up your phone again at once. It is urgent, he says.’

* * *

‘Boss. Emergency call from Happy.’

‘Put him through.’

‘Tony! Is this a secured line?’

‘I’m working.’

‘Listen to me! You gotta talk to me right now! In private!’

Tony exchanged a look with Peter and then Bruce, who had both interrupted their tasks immediately upon hearing Happy’s panicky voice.

‘What’s happening?’

‘You know what? Don’t. Stay here. Stay where you are. I’m calling Pepper first.’

‘What?’

‘Everyone’s safe. It’s—it’s a personal issue. Not about Pepper or Morgan. I’ll call you back.’

‘What the—’

The three men looked at each other again. They all thought about the same thing. Someone had leaked it to the press. They waited in silence, none of them daring to speak first.

‘Tony?’

It was Pepper.

‘Tony, can you hear me?’

‘Yeah, what’s up…’

‘Who’s with you?’

‘Bruce and—and Peter.’

‘Peter… I’m sorry but your aunt found out. About… you and Tony.’

Bruce gasped. Tony couldn’t even gasp. Neither could Peter, who seemed about to pass out.

‘How’, Tony managed to say.

‘I don’t know, but she’s not okay. At all. Happy’s trying to reach her but right now… Tony, she’s freaking out.’ Tony ran a shaky hand across his lips, closing his eyes. ‘Her personal assistant Arjun is with her. He’s trying to calm her down. Peter, if she could hear your voice…’ To Tony’s horror, his own body heaved in a violent, quiet sob. Thankfully, he got it under control right afterwards. It was almost like a hiccup. ‘Peter? Can you hear me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you call her?’

‘It’s my fault. She—she must have figured it out somehow... I couldn’t—I couldn’t lie.’

‘It’s nobody’s fault, okay? But right now, with the way she’s freaking out, I think her mind might have gone straight to the worst possible scenarios, given Tony’s age, public image and history. You have to talk to her.’

‘Put me through.’

‘The penthouse isn’t equipped with speakers that we can directly access.’

‘Leave it to me’, Tony interrupted.

In a minute, he had somehow managed to connect them to the penthouse.

‘May? May?’

It was too late. May had already left.

‘She’s coming here’, Happy informed them, suddenly appearing in the lab, breathless. ‘Arjun is driving her. I told him to tell her that you truly loved each other but she didn’t take it well…’

‘Yeah, well, no shit…’ Tony mumbled.

‘At least he quickly persuaded her not to tell the press. To protect you, Peter.’

‘Shit… Good luck, guys…’ Bruce said.

‘Good luck? _ Good luck? _ You’re wishing us good luck when you were the one who wanted to turn Tony to the cops!’

_ ‘What?’ _

‘What? That was last summer! Right after I found out about you two! I freaked out! Just like your aunt right now! I’ve changed my mind since then.’

‘Why?’ Tony interjected.

‘Because I get it now. Like Happy said… you love each other. And love can be… weird. And complicated. I know that now. Peter, she’ll get it too, eventually. But it won’t be easy.’

‘No shit’, Tony repeated.

They waited for May like condemned men the guillotine. Bruce stayed in the lab while they slowly walked together towards the main living room. Tony felt so nervous he was shaking. He wanted to throw up but not enough that he actually did. He wanted to cry but couldn’t. Peter took his hand and squeezed it. Tony put it above his. They didn’t share a word, the gesture enough. Peter felt so pleasantly surprised and relieved that he hadn’t just escaped from the compound. He was there, there with him, taking full responsibility. They were a couple. Finally. 

‘Are we together?’ he asked in a shy voice, craving confirmation.

‘No shit’, Tony only replied, and they laughed, although half-heartedly. It did almost nothing to appease the atmosphere.

It was as bad as he’d imagined it would be. Maybe even worse. May stormed into the living room, tears of rage streaming down her face. Peter had never seen her like that. Never. She stopped when she spotted them. Peter could hear Tony’s shallow breathing to his left. She didn’t say anything as she marched towards them. Peter stood up, Tony too, bracing himself for her blows, but all she did was take Peter’s wrist. She tried to pull him away, far away from Tony, but Peter resisted.

‘May, we’re in love.’

That was when the insults started. There was so much venom, so much hatred in her voice, that after several failed attempts at gently calming her, Peter started screaming over her own screams, and it was a fucking mess.

‘You fucking trash! Predator! _ Pedophile!’ _

‘Stop! Stop! Stop insulting him! Stop it, now!’

‘Child rapist! Fucking human garbage, aren’t you ashamed? _ Aren’t you ashamed?’ _

‘No! No! He didn’t do anything! Stop it! I forbid you! You hear me? I forbid you to talk to him like that!’

‘I’ll go to the cops! Tell them what you did! Tell them that you groomed a child to be your little sex toy! That’s what you did, didn’t you? _ Didn’t you? _ You fucking disgusting pervert! Twisted fuck! How old are you? _ How old are you? _ That’s right, cry! _ Cry! Fucking kill yourself!’ _

‘I love him! I love him! I love him! I love him! I love him! I love him! I love him! I love him! I love him…’

With that simple and yet so powerful sentence repeated over and over to her face, it was no longer possible to ignore it, and she eventually stopped screaming, her eyes still glued to the face of that man, the most powerful man in the world, who was silently weeping but firmly holding her gaze as if to send a message she couldn’t fathom. He looked miserable. Peter was still saying it, saying that same absurd sentence but quieter now, sobbing around the words, and suddenly, May fell to her knees, defeated.

Peter hugged her tight.

‘I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I should’ve told you… but I was so scared… I never wanted to hurt you…’

‘I failed… I failed to protect you…’

‘No, May… you don’t have to protect me from him. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. I’m in love with him. He never groomed me, never hurt me, never did anything wrong. He even tried to stop me. Many, many times.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘It’s true.’

‘How old is he…’

‘How old?’ She started shouting again.

‘Too old. Way too old to be with me’, he replied, and that shut her up. ‘But we didn’t choose that. We didn’t choose to fall in love.’

‘Stop saying that! I’m gonna be sick.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

‘No, I really am gonna be sick!’

‘Wh—what? Right now?’

‘Yeah!’

‘Hang on, take this!’ 

What the hell was Wanda doing here? He was grateful for the plastic bag nonetheless, if not a little taken aback by how timely it was.

He realized Tony was gone only when Wanda told him. He was safe, with Happy and Bruce in the lab, she said. He took care of May for the rest of the day. 

Pepper called her. She stayed on the phone with her for a full hour. Afterwards, Peter took her to the forest to have a refreshing walk there.

She stopped in her tracks at one point, her head held high, smelling the cold musk of the wet dirt and the fir trees.

‘It will take me a long time to digest this.’

‘I know.’

‘I might… never accept it. Not really.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m sorry. For how I behaved.’

‘Don’t. Don’t apologize. I understand.’

‘No. I told him… things I shouldn’t have. I was angry. I meant every word, though. Because I didn’t understand.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘His wife… she told me a lot… a lot of things Happy told her… things _ he _ told her… things she found out herself…’ She looked at Peter, her eyes still red and glassy. ‘I never wanted you to have such a hard life. No, let me finish. But I know… I understand… how special you are… how special your life turned out to be… and I knew… Peter, I knew… I knew and I never told you.’

‘What? What are you talking about?’

‘I’ve always known it wouldn’t be easy, just not… not like this. But in a way, it’s better than what I had imagined, because you’re safe. And… and he’s… he’s kept you safe… he’s saved you.’

‘What is it that you never told me?’

‘Your parents.’

‘What?’

‘They were… they were agents... S.H.I.E.L.D agents... They weren’t just scientists. They were spies. Their plane was targeted because of that. We were told never to tell you… and you know by who? Who asked us never to? Them. It was written in their will, which was then destroyed on the spot. They wanted to protect you, to keep you safe, to keep you away from that world; they wanted Ben and I to give you a normal life. And then Ben died and you became Spider-Man. I almost told you at least a dozen times, you know, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t betray them. I was torn. I’m so sorry.’

Peter wasn’t angry. He didn’t cry. He didn’t run and hide. He just pulled her into a hug and tried to breathe steadily. 

‘What are you telling me this now?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe… maybe because you’re all grown-up now.’

He was speechless for the entire evening. Tony was still with Happy and Bruce. He stayed with May, eating dinner with her and Wanda, whom he felt the urge to hug several times during their conversation about S.H.I.E.L.D and his parents. He felt strangely calm, as if he had known all along. When he saw Pepper Stark enter the room, he instantly got up on shaky legs as if she were a queen entering her palace, as if he owed her everything, and in a way, he did. He greeted her with a look full of respect and gratitude. She blinked a few times, then smiled at him, but she didn’t talk to him, passing them in silence to go straight to the corridor leading up to the lab, and Peter swore he saw the hint of a tear in the corner of her eye. She was so beautiful. So smart, so strong, so understanding. She was still in love with Tony. How the hell had he chosen _ him _ over _ her? _

He didn’t see Tony that night. The next day, they both agreed that they should solely focus on the work that still needed to be done for now, at least until it was all over and the storm had settled down, so to speak.

Peter had long conversations with May during the weekends. Long and deep conversations. Soon however, he realized that nothing would ever be the same between them. There was a distance now, imperceptible, an unease that spoke volumes even if she was apparently back to her calm, cheerful nature. But that was it. She was pretending to be okay. She didn’t want to hear anything about the details of his relationship with Tony.

For the three weeks leading up to the launch, they only shared three kisses—once in the lab and twice in empty corridors. They were bittersweet, May’s screams still echoing in their minds. Thankfully, their workload intensified so much they hardly suffered from it, except during the night, each in their own bed, alone with their own thoughts and fears in the darkness and that inexplicable sense of doom growing and growing as they prayed for the other to come rapping at the window, at the door… but the other never came.

They talked to each other more, though. They looked at each other more easily. They left their own worktables more often than not to come and have a peek at the other’s work, discussing, debating, actually working together for the first time, with Bruce as well, and they became a real team as D-Day was approaching. Tony’s jokes became rare, his sarcasm all but gone, and sure, it worried Peter a little, but at the same time, there was a particular sort of tenderness in him that had never been there before, or at least not in broad daylight; only when they had been in bed together.

_ Time. _

They needed time.

And then, one day, they would be okay, no matter what.


End file.
